


Those of Us Who Carry Guns Can’t Always Be a Saint

by realpoutydadsurvives (collettephinz)



Series: Once More With Chris [9]
Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse), Resident Evil - All Media Types
Genre: Amnesia, Betrayal, Bittersweet Ending, Blood, Canon Appropriate Violence, Gore, M/M, PTSD and trauma related characteristics, References to Child Abuse, Zombies, all that good stuff, alternating pov, changing canon a lil, dumb zombie killing boys who are bad at feelings, gonna be a long one so buckle up, my boner for guns and their gorgeous names, one specific death is NOT going to be kept, references to abusive relationships, resident evil 6 coda fic, slow burn maybe?, some canonical deaths are kept, with chreon added in
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:53:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 141,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24053179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/collettephinz/pseuds/realpoutydadsurvives
Summary: With the rise of a new BOW and a new, earth-ending virus, Chris Redfield and Leon S. Kennedy must find their respective ways into the depths of Lanshiang, China. The two men have to work their way through the throngs of infected and tumultuous inter-organization relations-- and eventually work together, face to face, side by side, for the first time since Spain.. . .RE6 Chreon with a good chunk of canon elements kept and some of it changed a lil cause god dammit Capcom, Piers deserved to live.
Relationships: Helena Harper/Ada Wong, Jake Muller/Piers Nivans, Leon S. Kennedy/Chris Redfield
Series: Once More With Chris [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1326299
Comments: 110
Kudos: 347





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> HAAAAAAAAA
> 
> FUCK ME THIS IS A BIG'UN
> 
> it's gonna be slow on updates cause life/uni/shit but hey
> 
> slow and steady wins the race right
> 
> also please forgive me for continuity errors, this game is a fucking linear nightmare, I'm doing my best

_“Captain Redfield— there was this man at the bar. No, no, jesus, not that kind of man, I’m not talking about that sort of thing, I’m pretty sure I’m not like that. It was a man— an agent. DSO, actually, DSO Agent Leon S. Kennedy. You know him, right? He told me to tell you that— well, he told me to tell you that he’s gonna ask you out on a date.”_

. . .

It was Christmas Eve and there wasn’t much to celebrate. Another dead soldier, another reason for Chris to hate the world he lived in. Keeping his chin up was impossible these days, especially when staring down at the corpses of brave fighters, men and women giving their lives for a never-ending battle. It all felt so useless, so _wasteful._ It felt like he was beating his head against a wall and hoping it collapsed before his skull caved in. But Chris couldn’t let any of his men know that— especially not young Finn, the newest to their ranks, a kid with baby fat still clinging to his cheeks. 

Chris stared at Finn’s back— he really was so fucking small compared to the others— and approached his team. They were all gathered around the body of a soldier that had been founded dead in the streets, silent, waiting for him. Chris joined his men and stared at the corpse, his jaw clenched as Piers turned to him and filled him in.

“He was running recon,” Piers said, voice grim as he added, “Alone.”

Jesus christ— this was why he wanted people in teams, always.

Chris looked back to the body and watched one soldier cover him up before lifting the stretcher to bring the corpse away and out of sight. Chris watched them go, wondering how many more were going to die before the end of this civil war. He took in a deep breath and gripped his gun tight. “Listen up!” he called out sharply, his men turning to face him, closing off a small circle. “In the BSAA, our job is to rid the world of bioterrorism— and the only way we’re gonna do that is by _sticking together._ ” Beside him, Piers nodded, agreeing wholeheartedly. They’d discussed the strength in numbers concept more than once. No one needed to die alone out here, not when the Chris was always there to back their men up.

“Nobody’s expendable,” Piers added firmly.

“Exactly,” Chris agreed, giving the man a glance. “Now each and every one of you may be ready to die for our cause, but it’s my job to make sure we all get through this alive.”

There was sniffling off to the side. Chris looked to the new guy in some sort of disbelief. “Suck it up, Finn,” Piers ordered, having a lot more patience for the kid than Chris could manage right now. 

The kid nodded, looking sheepish. “Sorry, Sir.”

God, Chris hated being called sir.

“No one gets left behind,” Chris declared. “Not on my watch— understood?”

His men chorused “yessir!” and Chris hoped this rousing speech would be enough to remind his men that they really weren’t here to die for anything at all if he could help it.

“Finn, give us an update,” Piers requested, letting the kid take the stage. Chris was impressed Piers was letting the new guy have a role like this, but he was more than supportive regardless. Piers had a habit of taking the newbies under his wing— always said he was gonna be the older brother he’d never had.

Finn also seemed surprised to be addressed and put in charge. Apparently habilitating the new guy to Chris’s particularly lax militaristic environment was slow going. “Y-yessir.” He pulled out his HoloMag, clicking the equipment to life and display the 3d model of the logged intel for the assignment on the dirt beneath their feet. Chris crouched down for a closer look as Finn began his recap.

“The guerrillas are using a new species of BOW,” he began, voice loud and clear like Piers had been coaching. “Command is calling them ‘J’avo.’ They are extremely intelligent, incredibly strong, and have the ability to mutate in response to physical trauma.”

Finn clicked off the HoloMag and— jesus, that really was all they knew. Chris stood and held back a grimace, looking to his team again. “Alright— you know the drill. We split into three teams. Move out!”

“You got it!”

“Yessir!”

His men marched off, trained and as ready for this as they could ever be. Chris had had this particular team for almost a year— he knew every man in his unit like they were his own family. He knew that if anyone could handle this, it was the people he’d selected and trained to perfection. 

And then that left Finn.

A good kid— _damn_ good kid according to Piers. But new, horribly young, and not ready for the hell he was about to see. Piers turned to face Chris for a moment, silently asking with his eyes, requesting permission that Chris granted. 

He stepped forward towards Finn, facing him down. “You’re the rookie, huh?”

“Yessir,” Finn replied, falling into a parade rest. His equipment was on right, he was holding his gun correctly, sights on the floor, finger off the trigger. “Finn Macauley, sir.”

Hearing sir so often from such a young face— it was like a flashback. Piers’s eyes were sharp on Chris as Chris leaned in and rested his hand on Finn’s shoulder. “I know you’re nervous, Finn, but the team’s got your back. Okay?”

Finn hesitated— the new ones always hesitated with Chris. Not because he scared them, but because they thought they should be scared of him, and yet never could manage the fear with how Chris treated them. “Yessir,” the kid said, expression softening a little. “I’ll give this everything I’ve got!”

Chris believed him. So he grinned and pat the kid’s shoulder, praying Finn wouldn’t have to give _everything._. He turned and walked away, giving Piers time to give the kid a few more details about the mission, but then caught a few whispers from Finn. 

_”Is he always this awesome?”_

Chris didn’t hear Piers respond. Chris had to hide a genuine smile from breaking across his lips— he couldn’t let people think he was going soft.

He loaded into his APC, one of many that would be heading into the heart of the city, and moments later, Piers and Finn joined Chris, both with their respective load outs. Chris was up in the gunner hole at the top, surveying the rest of the BSAA troops moving out, helicopters soaring overhead. It was an organized chaos, the bubbling adrenaline thick in the air, every man and woman here well aware what they were getting into and the likelihood that they might not come back. The calm before the storm— Chris’s least favorite part of the job. 

There was a tap to Chris’s calve— “Move over, man!”— and then Piers was lifting himself up through the hole, sitting on the opposite rim as Chris. The young man scowled at the ruckus around them, adjusting his sniper veil to pull a little tighter around his neck and cover a little more skin. It was going to start snowing soon. Chris hoped Piers was wearing his thermal underwear like Chris had told him. 

“Something new, they say,” Piers grumbled, shaking his head as he looked to the city skyline. “I don’t like it, Chris— I don’t like it one bit. How many new things are we going to see? And who the fuck is making them?”

Chris shook his head, at a loss. “There’s always someone new out there trying to make the latest apocalypse to sell on the black market. You know as well as I do that cutting off one head only brings three more.” He looked out to where Piers’s gaze was trained, his own heart rate slowly picking up as the weight of the situation settled on his shoulders. “It never gets better. Only worse.”

A boot kicked Chris in the knee shield. “Hey,” Piers called out gently, prompting Chris to look at him. “Light at the end of the tunnel, right? How many months now?”

How many months until Leon’s intentions would be realized? Chris turned away again. “… Nine months. Seven days.”

“There ya’ go— got something to look forward to.” 

Chris could hear the stupid grin in Piers’s voice. “If it even happens,” he mumbled. “We aren’t exactly the luckiest.” 

Chris had told Piers a little more about Leon since Piers had told Chris Leon’s intentions. Piers knew enough to know that Leon wasn’t someone Piers should be wary of— really, Leon was probably the _only_ person Piers could trust with Chris in his entirety, aside from Claire. Piers still didn’t know that Chris’s cop and Leon S. Kennedy were one and the same, but there was enough history to Leon’s name alone to give Piers a good idea of just how impossible it was to think they could be together. Chris still didn’t believe Leon intended to go through with it, but that hadn’t stopped his treacherous heart from whispering the sweet possibilities when things were too dark for Chris to move forward. Better surviving blind than nothing. Even if Chris didn’t think it was going to happen, he was going to survive until the day to find out for sure.

October 2nd of 2013. Chris was going to be there.

Beneath them, the APC suddenly rumbled to life. Chris looked to Piers and gave a jerk of his head. “Stay down with Finn— he needs a little moral support.”

“He’s a good soldier,” Piers said as he slid back down into the APC with a huff. “I’ll keep an eye on him.”

“I will too,” Chris promised before Piers was out of sight. The convoy pulled out, making a slow crawl through the streets into the city, every soldier quiet as the dead, tense and alert. The buildings themselves were seemingly empty and cold, not a sign of life in or out the streets. It was alarmingly calm for a—

Bullets suddenly peppered the metal of the vehicle in front of him— Chris had spoken too soon. “Enemy fire, enemy fire!” he shouted into comms as he heard Piers and Finn rally and load beneath his feet. “Alpha team, Engage! All troops spread—“ The APC in front of him ran over a mine, the world burning a fierce red and white as the explosion through the vehicle in the air and Chris’s heart leaped into his throat. “— Spread out! Return fire!” The APC landed on its top in front of the convoy, putting Chris’s vehicle to a dead halt.

“Fuck,” he hissed to himself, staying up out of the APC to see if anything was coming for them. There was a man in a red shirt down the street and— that was all Chris could see. The smoke and the snow made his eyes useless. “Come in HQ!” He shouted into the main channel. “We’re taking fire at the Two of Hearts! Engaging the enemy!”

He lifted himself from the back of the APC, giving up on the wheels entirely. His boots hit the ground and he lifted his ACR, 

_“Copy that,”_ came the droning, unsympathetic voice of HQ. _“Keep an eye out for those powered up soldiers.”_

God, fuck HQ.

Chris moved up, taking down assailants as he moved through the buildings. Everyone he was coming across was human, falling to the spray of his bullets like flies being swat. HQ called in again only a minute later to tell him they couldn’t offer back-up— like that was a surprise. Since Africa, Chris had learned he couldn’t rely on HQ for a damn thing other than a ride into a FUBAR situation and nothing else.

Overhead, a helicopter spinout of control and down, crashing into the buildings beyond. Chris saw it happen and felt his chest clench again, racking up the bodycount in his head obsessively. Like counting cards only he was counting lives lost. He was going to lose his mind if he did this forever.

_October 2nd._

The convoy moved up with Chris, Chris being a lot more use on the cobblestone than he could be sitting in a vehicle. BSAA’s Alpha Team was moving in alongside UN troops to held Edonia bring the civil war under control— Chris wouldn’t even be here, personally, if it weren’t for the existence of this newly-brewed BOW. He was here to put a stop to viruses and bring bioterrorism attacks under control. But this—

All Chris had done so far was kill _people._ Human people, men fighting for whatever cause they thought was worth dying for. Wrong or right, this wasn’t what Chris had signed up for, and his stomach churned with every squeeze of his trigger. He almost hoped the monsters showed up soon so he could actually tell himself he was killing the virus and not civilians.

And then a man came from between two buildings, marching towards Chris in an alleyway, blood covering his face, stalking steadily towards Chris despite the clip Chris was burying into his chest. Chris’s breath caught, fear momentarily stilling his thoughts. The brush of Piers’s shoulder against his own knocked Chris out of his head, bringing him back into the fight, bringing his trigger finger back into motion. “Are these the new species HQ was warning us about?!”

Piers fired a quick shot from his rifle into the approaching man, his own higher-caliber rounds doing just as little to slow the infected as Chris’s ACR.

“Bullets don’t even phase ‘em!” Piers shouted just to Chris’s right. “This ain’t our normal class of enemy!”

Chris reloaded and peppered more lead into the infected, finally bringing him down. The second the body hit the floor, it dissipated, dissolving into the air, like pollen bursting from a flower. Chris took a reflexive step back, wanting to cover his mouth, unsure of how this new virus spread. Was it through bite or through the air? Maybe it had to be injected? Was it like the Plaga or the T-Virus? Or was it worse— near invulnerability and the distorted features screamed G-Virus more than anything. Chris hadn’t faced that in a long time. He hoped he wasn’t too rusty.

He counted his bullets, taking down another infected and relaxing as he realized it wasn’t actually an entire clip to take these things out. So long as he was in contact with his troops and they were smart, they’d be able to handle this. “Stay with me,” he ordered to Piers and Finn, knowing they would be much better off as a group. Three men taking on one of these J’avo brought them down quicker, and then on to the next. Systematic and careful, quick and efficient, the only way they were going to survive was to rely on what Chris knew and practiced and never try for anything they couldn’t handle.

Piers on his right was a comfort— but Finn wasn’t with them. Chris didn’t even know where the kid was. If he died on his first assignment because Chris just wasn’t good enough—

The infected spoke, screaming something in a Slavic tongue. Chris stumbled, blindsided by this sudden change in the viruses. He remember rumors of the T-virus allowing some jumbled speech, but this, these complete sentences, this _intelligence._

The infected was mowed down, Piers darting forward and glaring at Chris from over his shoulder. “C’mon, Captain, we don’t have time to get lost in the clouds!”

Chris nodded, watching the infected’s corpse dissolve into nothing, and wondering just what this world was coming to.

They charged into the upstairs, bringing down the rest of the infected as they worked through the buildings to the upper levels, bursting out into the cold air. Chris shivered minutely as the wind whipped his face. There was a pathway connecting the roofs and Chris ran across it first, reaching a locked door on the other side. He turned back, meaning to shout for Piers to help him get it open, when the ground suddenly rumbled beneath the building, tremors strong enough to send the foundations shaking. Chris snapped his hand up, halting Piers from across the small causeway, bringing his gun up and aiming his sights down the streets. His sharp eyes searched for—

There.

From between a row of houses came splintered wood and dust, a deep rhythm to the destruction that sang of footsteps. Chris held his breath as if breathing would give his location away, even as he was in the middle of the sky, in plain sight. And from between the buildings came—

A giant.

An absolute giant. 

Over two stories tall, made of horrifically stitched together flesh that barely contained the blood and puss that spilled from the body. It walked on two legs and had two arms that swung through stone. The face was ripped open from the upper lip, the jaw torn away, dripping skin and sinew flinging plasma across the cold cobblestone below. The giant tore itself from a mechanism that had once held it back. It fell to the floor on all fours and roared in pain.

Chris had never seen anything like it.

“I didn’t know they came in extra large,” Piers gasped from across the walkway, bringing up his rifle with tremor to his stance. “How many new species are there?!”

“Stay back!” Chris shouted, laying down cover fire that he knew was useless. The creature lifted a APC and flung it at them, Chris having to throw himself to the side to avoid. “Piers, jump!”

He heard the grunts of his man leaping down the from the causeway, landing on the streets below. Chris kept up his cover fire for as long as he could, the hulking monster stomping closer and closer, not even flinching under the volley of bullets. As it came to a stop only a few yards from where Chris was standing, lifting its arms to bring the bridge down, Chris stared into the creature’s eyes and saw only suffering. Then he leaped back and away, rolling across the stone as the giant slammed its fists down onto the bridge, rubble falling around him. Piers lifted Chris to his feet, a shaky grin tugging at his lips. Chris couldn’t return it— not when the ground began to rumble beneath their feet again, footsteps growing closer. Chris looked up from where he’d jumped and saw the massive silhouette of the monster, growing steadily closer. 

“Run,” he gasped before scrambling forward, tugging Piers along with him by the sleeve of his BDUs. “Run!” 

Piers got with the program, breaking into a sprint alongside him. Chris pressed into comms, glancing over his shoulder and cursing when he saw the giant was pursuing them and only them, following Chris and Piers like a dog that had caught a delicious scent. “Finn!” he shouted, praying the kid could hear him from wherever he was and _help them._ This wasn’t like in Africa— this wasn’t Ndesu, this wasn’t El Gigante, this was a fucking living nightmare from some awful German fairytale that would never be told to kids. “Finn! WE’ve got a huge BOW on our tails! I need APC’s firepower, now!”

He held his breath despite the dead sprint his legs were carrying him in, terrified there’d be no answer.

Then static filtered through, and Chris gulped down air, turning forward to run as fast as he could, now trusting his life in Finn’s hands.

_“Removing the barricade now, Sir! I’ll be there as soon as I can!”_

Chris skidded to a halt, bringing up his ARC to cover Piers, the younger man falling behind with the weight of his weapon. The bullets chipped away at infected skin before Chris spotted something squirming beneath the flesh— a red mound, twitching tendrils, something moving inside. As Piers passed Chris, Chris brought his focus to that trembling point, knowing enough about BOWs to surmise it could be his saving grace. His bullets tore into the undulating flesh and the giant staggered back, clutching at the red Chris had made in its chest and wailing in pain. It gave Chris enough time to turn and make for a ladder at the far end of the street, climbing up and shooting out the windows, firing directly into the monster’s face. It recovered and swung at Chris, but he moved quickly through the hallway revealed to him, gunning down what few infected were with them with Piers at his side, putting his ammo into the giant. 

“Get down!”

Chris dropped to the floor on order, Piers’s Anti-Materiel Rifle firing hot, a round tearing right through the giant’s eye. It screamed in pain again, and this time Chris noticed something _important._

On its back— along its spine— where that mechanism had been attached to flesh and bone, the exposed skin now writhed in pain like it was a separate entity. Chris had a flashback to Spain, Leon climbing atop El Gigante’s back and slicing at the Plaga that writhed from the spine. 

That could work.

“Cover me!” Chris leaped out of the shattered window, landing on the giant’s shoulder and fighting for balance. He didn’t hesitate from there, crawling up the long arm and reaching the creature’s head. He didn’t have a knife big enough to do damage to this behemoth, but he saw pieces of the spine itself sticking from the gray, sickly flesh. Good enough for him. Chris grit his teeth and yanked the scrap of bone from the body, lifting it with ease and slamming it home into the lump of gooey red, taking satisfaction in the horrible scream the monster emitted. 

Chris threw himself from the monster’s back, hitting the ground hard and rolling with it. “Chris!” Piers shouted from above, making Chris turn and see the explosion from down the street, just as chainlink fencing was torn apart by the APC tearing down the street. The Browning M2HB shredded the giant, Chris scrambling to his feet so he could run out of the way as the thing teetered dangerously. The giant caught itself and stumbled away, fleeing down the streets, tearing through structures just toe scape.

The APC sped by, soldiers following. Chris breathed raggedly, regaining his foot. He pressed into comms again. “Alpha to HQ. Our route’s blocked by a BOW.”

_“Change course from Route One to Route Four.”_

_“Those things are enormous!”_ Finn cried out over comms. _“I didn’t know BOWs could get that big!”_

Chris thought of what he’d seen on the Queen Zenobia and knew they could get bigger— a lot bigger.

“They’re giving ‘em new stuff,” soldier griped from beside Chris. “They can make any kind of freak show they want.”

Chris huffed as he moved up with the APC, hating that the soldier was right. More infected blocked their path, but with the APC on their side, it was quicker work than Chris could have hoped for. He wasn’t sure what HQ was leading them into, knowing only that he was here to bring the virus under control. Unfortunately, it was starting to look like that would be a lot harder than HQ had thought. As soldiers around him shouted, urging everyone to take cover with the APC, Chris moved steadily through the buildings, Piers just behind. Most of the infected were taking their shots from behind cover of their own, forcing Chris’s men to adapt to a level of intelligence they weren’t used to facing. BOWs using guns and their brains? At this rate, this virus was going to be what really ended the world if Chris didn’t bring it under control.

_“Fuck!”_

Finn’s sharp cry over the comms had Chris halting in his tracks, turning back and grimacing as he saw the front tires of the APC tangled in barbed wire. _“They threw something in front of me! The APC’s busted!”_

“Finn, get out of there!” Chris ordered, doubling back to cover Finn’s exit of the vehicle. Piers darted in, yanking Finn from the vehicle. 

“Jesus, Finn, you leave a vehicle once it’s broken,” Piers was snapping as Chris covered them, walking backwards to the next area. “You stay in one place too long and you end up dead!”

“Finn, I need you to blow this fence!” Chris called out, aiming down the streets as Piers manhandled the kid was him. 

“I’m on it, sir!” Finn replied, tearing himself away from Piers to run for the chainlink gate, dropping to his knees. Piers took his stance beside Chris, the young man tense with worry for the rookie. Chris knew the feeling. “Setting charges now!” 

Chris took a step back, the other soldiers joining them as Finn put the charges on the gate and then ran back over, hitting the button. Small explosions that barely disturbed the snowy air sent the gate topping over. “Good work,” Chris said, marching forward and dropping down into the train yard. He grimaced at what he saw. Rail cars were tipped on their sides, the whole place looking like a large scale version of a toddler’s temper tantrum with broken toys. “There’s a train blocking the way!” He shouted back to his men as Piers dropped down behind him, the rest following suit. “This route’s a no go!”

“Leave it to me.”

Finn darted past Chris, lighter on his feet than Chris had expected. More charges were lined up before Chris could even process what the rookie was doing. “Grab some cover!” Finn shouted, Piers grabbing Chris by the arm and tugging him behind a couple of sandbags as the charges went off and the rail car was blown sky high. It landed on its side, swaying, and Chris cursed again, running forward and waving his men through as the car began to tip over again. Piers was the last to make it under, skidding across the rubble as the rail car landed back on its side again, blocking any pursuers that could be just moments behind.

Chris breathed a sigh of relief, pushing through the train station doors and looking out at the huge iron bridge before them that stretched into the city. Comms fizzed in. _“HQ to Alpha Team. City Hall’s on the other side of the bridge. Pick up Bravo and move in.”_

“What’s the status?” Chris demanded, marching slowly into the area, checking all the blind spots. “Any casualties?”

_“They’ve got a man down on the bridge.”_

Fuck.

Chris jogged forward, looking down the road into the mess of cars. Everything was jumbled together, but he could see the bright red of an oil tankard, and the hulking frame of an actual tank as well. “Tank on the bridge!” Piers called out to the team, peering down the scope of his rifle at the carnage below. “The whole bridge is blocked off!”

“Okay, people!” Chris shouted, reloading his ACR and marching towards the bridge, ready to get that soldier out of there even if it was the last thing he did. “Getting to the wounded is priority one!” He glanced to the left, seeing broken scaffolding and a tower. “Alpha team! Lay down suppressing fire from the flank!”

He turned back, grinning a little as he saw Piers was ready for him, the young man leaning back on his heal. Chris went down on a knee and threaded his fingers together, making a solid step with his hand. Piers ran for him, stepping into the foothold and flying gracefully through the air once Chris had vaulted him up, Piers flying across the huge gap with ease and giving Chris a cheeky thumbs-up once he was on the other side before darting into the building, rifle ready. Chris turned back to the bridge, nodding to a member of Bravo team that was running back from the bridge to him.

“He’s just up ahead, but he’s hurt bad! You gotta get him out!”

“We’ll get our man,” Chris promised, jerking his chin forward for his team to move. “Finn— move up!”

“Copy that!” the kid replied, running ahead, so fucking eager to help his people that it made Chris’s chest hurt. “I’ll take point!”

“Slow down!” Chris shouted, running after him, pissed that Finn was so gung-ho to get himself killed. Chris’s boots hit the tarmac and the smell of gasoline hit Chris’s nose a second too late. A suddenly shockwave rocked him to his knees before an explosion rattled his bones in his body. Everything swayed dangerously, the entire bridge crumbling beneath his fee as he desperately struggled to keep from slipping off the falling bridge into he murky waters below. Cars and debris tumbled past Chris, forcing him to flatten himself against the asphalt and crawl up the broken slabs of the bridge. His grip faltered, his boots skid and lost purchase. Chris felt himself slipping—

“I gotcha, Captain!”

Hands grabbed Chris’s vest, pulling him up and onto steady ground as the world fell apart just behind him. He gasped for breath, coughing up petrol fumes and rubble, shaking himself and forcing his feet to carry his weight again as he stood. Finn helped him, both hands on Chris’s shoulders, young eyes so earnest and concerned. Chris took in a few deep breaths and spat blood onto the ground from where he’d bit through his tongue. “I owe you one, Finn,” he rasped as he steadied himself and then began moving forward once more. “How’s our injured friend?”

Finn scrambled past him to the injured soldier on the ground, the man silent and still, hidden behind an overturned car that had pillars of flame casting a red glow across his body. “Still with us,” Finn said, grinning shakily up at Chris. “I’m going to administer first aid!”

Jesus— such a young kid, yet a hell of a soldier already.  
_“Alpha Team, come in. There’s an old T-42 tank moving on your position. Looks like its had some modifications.”_

“Ah shit,” Finn said, looking to Chris again as bad news came over comms, just like always. “Be careful, Captain!”

_“Chris, I can get that tank taken care of if you get it just a little closer.”_

Piers’s idea was as terrible as it was genius. Play bait and get the tank close enough to the tankard at the end of the bridge, let Piers lay into it, and the tank would be gone— but if Chris wasn’t smart, he’d be smithereens before he’d get to see Piers make another one of his beautiful shots. Still—

Chris glanced to Finn, the young man bent over the injured soldier, whispering softly to an unconscious man like soothing words would help ebb the pain of antiseptic on bullet wounds. Either Chris played cat and mouse with his life being gambled for the cheese, or Chris lose another man. The latter was not an option.

“On me, Piers,” Chris said into comms.

_“I got your back, captain.”_

Chris ran into the thick of it, drawing enemy fire that he hadn’t even realized would be there. The infected hadn’t been advancing so Chris had foolishly assumed they weren’t present— only now did Chris realize they’d been waiting. Either that injured soldier was bait, or they’d known the BSAA would have to advance using this route. It wasn’t looking good.

Especially not with the barrel of a tank staring Chris down from only a hundred meters away. 

Chris split his attention between the infected and the tank, ducking behind cover and choosing his shots, relying on Piers to keep him from being run through. The tank fired an artillery round and Chris threw a hand up to shield himself from the stone and dust that would’ve blinded him if he hadn’t been ready for it. 

_“A little closer, Captain, I need it next to the tankard!”_

“How about you get down here and give this a try yourself?!” Chris ducked out from behind cover, sprinting for the tank again, holding his breath and praying he wasn’t running headfirst into a shell. The tank rolled forward, and Chris saw the most minute turn of the cannon. He dove to the right on instinct, artillery whizzing past him and slamming into the wall holding the train station above the water. Chris choked on a breath, heart pounding, hands shaking on his ACR that was all but useless against this machine. He spotted the red light of Piers’s sights, held his breath, thought of October 2nd and a photo tucked in his waistband, and rolled over into the line of sight of the tank once more.

He fired, but his bullets barely dented the exterior. There was a heavy clunk and a whir from the tank— reloading. Chris took a few steps back, looking around for more cover, but realized nothing nearby would protect him now. The tank was less than ten yards away— he could smell the ozone coming from the exhaust. The barrel turned and Chris stared into it, the empty black swallowing him up. He wondered if he’d be able to see the shell before it shattered him.

Then a shockwave— then heat— then the tank was smoldering, burning from the outside in, an infected screaming within as the machinery was decimated by the tankard explosion. Chris could fucking kiss Piers next he saw him.

 _“The way is clear,”_ came a soldier from Bravo Team’s voice over the comms. _“We better catch up with Captain Redfield.”_

Holy shit, Chris never wanted to do that again.

_“I told you I got your back, Chris.”_

Thank fuck.

Chris moved up, passing the tank without a second glance. He searched the walls, needing— 

He spotted a red ladder and went for it. He had to keep moving. Bravo Team had picked up Finn and the wounded soldier, he was sure of it, he just needed to reach them. “I’m heading for the upper level of the bridge. Meet me up on top. Finn, I want you to blow the bridge once we’re up here and on our way.”

_“Yessir!”_

Chris climbed to the top of the steel frame of the bridge breathed deeper, grimacing at the taste of the air. He surveyed the city, saw the smoke billowing above the skyline, saw the fires and the crumbles roofs. He wasn’t sure what the BSAA could do here— Edonia had fallen from as far as Chris could tell.

He turned to look back the way they came and cursed softy, seeing the swarming masses of infected scrambling for the bridge. In the nick of time, Piers and Finn came from the ladder, Piers letting out a holler for how high up they were, Finn immediately breaking for the vital structural points of the bridge.

“Not bad, right Chris?” Piers asked, watching the staggering masses infected run for them. “Jesus— this couldn’t get any worse, could it?”

“Don’t say that.”

Piers sighed and looked ahead again, “Can’t we just take the win for once?”

“We haven’t won yet.” They never would. “Finn— how are those charges?”

“Almost ready, Sir!”

Chris nodded, turning away. “C’mon— don’t wanna lose you to some shrapnel when we’ve come this far.”

“Like you would let me die,” Piers griped as he let Chris manhandle him behind cover. Finn counted down quietly, pushing the pin and not even flinching as the explosion sounded, the metal of the bridge screaming as it collapsed. Chris lifted his head in time to watch the structure fall, a deceiving sense of safety washing over him as he witnessed the anger of the infected across the large river, the masses churning with disorder. 

Chris gave the sight a grim nod and stood. “Let’s move out.” His men followed, trudging along just a foot behind him, Piers keeping his sharp eyes out in front in case Chris missed something. The marched through the streets that were decidedly emptier than the previous. They headed deeper into the city, Chris hating the echo of their bots through suddenly-silent streets. Compared to the chaos of before, this was nothing short of unsettling. 

They moved into a square, and Chris instantly became anxious. He halted in his tracks, then furiously motioned his men to head in, covering the edges, staying as hidden as they could from the windows above. His men rounded the square, Piers watching them sharply, then going rigid. “Captain,” he said, his voice stiff as he stared at something Chris couldn’t see. “There’s a—

“—kin!” a female voice cried out urgently, Chris only catching the tail end of her name. She was a blond woman dressed for the cold followed by a tall man with buzzed hair. “National Security!”

Chris stared at her, finding something achingly familiar about her. His gaze then went to the man behind her and that— god, that was even worse. Chris felt like he knew _both_ of these people. And shouting about national security? Which nation? She was waving a badge around like it meant something. Was she new?

She was walking towards him like she knew him. 

Chris stood tall, Finn and Piers flanking him, their weapons up. Oddly, Piers wasn’t looking at the blond girl like Chris and Finn, but the man behind her. Chris cast his glance back— shuddering a little at the worsening sensation of familiarity— and took the man in objectively.

Young, tall, reddish hair that was shaved close to his scalp. There was a scar across his cheek, old but still visible. His face was angular and his mouth was in a thin, grim line, both of these features horribly familiar to Chris in an infuriating way he couldn’t describe. The man wore a leather jacket atop practical clothes, his entire demeanor reading as standoffish and cold. His shoulders were broad— he was holding himself in a way that was subtly defensive.

Chris looked back to the woman, who bore a striking contrast to the man behind her. Her hair was cut short and a vibrant blond that was rare for her age, as most blond hair fell away into something duskier through the years. Her skin was fair and pale and her eyes were bright with intelligence. She was familiar to Chris in a different way from the man because she looked like someone he knew he’d known, like meeting someone ten years later after knowing them as a child. But the man was a stranger. A stranger with a familiar face.

Chris finally looked down at the badge in the woman’s hand that she would not put down. His eyes glanced over the name—

Wait, what the fuck, holy shit.

Chris took a deep breath to steady himself, wondering if the woman really did recognize him— if _Sherry Birkin_ remembered the face of the man who’d abandoned Leon. Chris wanted a good hour to sit down and freak out over this, but he was in the middle of a combat zone and couldn’t afford the time. Chris took a few steps closer, hoping she would be professional if she did know him. “Sherry Birkin,” he said, watching her face, searching for a sign that she recognized him and hated him for what he’d done. He swallowed, then added, “You were in Raccoon City.”

Sherry Birkin’s face dropped into an expression of surprise as she finally folded away the badge. She stared at him for a moment, searching him just the same as he’d done. “How do you know that?”

Somehow, her _not_ recognizing him only made things worse. Now he would have to explain how he knew her. Chris had two options of recall here, only one of them being safe. “Claire,” he replied stiffly.

“Wait…” Sherry took a step towards him, looking up at Chris with huge eyes. “Are you Chris?”

“I’ve heard lot about you,” Chris said, treading carefully. “All good, of course.”

Sherry took another step towards him. “Is Leon—”

“Chris, that man is a wanted insurgent,” Piers interrupted in the nick of fucking time, holy shit, Chris needed to get Piers a six pack of his favorite lager once they were home. Chris looked to the man behind Sherry, grimacing as the unknown man stared back passively, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned against a decimated car. National Security, Sherry had said. Chris couldn’t imagine what that could involved. Piers took a step forward, his gun up. Chris realized this situation was about to escalate. 

“Yes, he’s a mercenary!” Sherry suddenly exclaimed, putting an arm out between Piers and the stranger, pleading with them. “But right now he’s under the protection of the U.S. government. He is _no_ threat to the BSAA.”

“Unless someone pays me to be.”

Chris looked back to the man, narrowing his eyes. Suddenly, the familiar features were becoming a little easier to name.

“What did you just say?” Piers demanded, shifting his weight from foot to foot, ready to get into a fight. Chris lamented Piers’s temper at least twice a day, and it was looking like this assignment would be no different.

The stranger leaned off the car and turned to Chris— Chris realized he’d been staring. “What?” he asked innocently as Sherry whipped around to Chris, silently pleading him to keep things under control. 

“Nothing,” Chris said. The static of his comms kept him from saying more.

_“HQ to Alpha Team— Reinforcements are unable to land due to anti-aircraft artillery. Take ‘em out.”_

“Alpha Team, copy,” Chris said, swiveling around to try and get eyes on the artillery. “We’re gonna—” The ground suddenly rumbled. “What the—”

 _“We’re picking up a large bogey on the radar,”_ HQ chimed in. _“It’s heading right for you.”_

Chris looked up as a shadow fell across him and his men, an apache helicopter hovering in from over the rooftop with large cargo hanging from the craft— the giant. _The fucking giant._ Chris cursed his luck, wondering if Sherry Birkin had been given any useful combat training. He also wondered how long she’d even been an agent considering how cherry she seemed to be when waving the badge around. Chris looked about at his men, trying to gauge their ammo count and ability to just run as the apache swung in a sharp turn and released the giant, the monster unfolding and dropping to the ground. The helicopter pulled away, yanking the mechanism from the flesh at the spine as had been done with the first giant. It staggered to its feet and slammed the ground, enraged and in pain.

“We’ll talk later!” Chris shouted, running to Sherry’s side, standing between her and the giant. Leon would _kill_ him if anything happened to her. “Right now, you need to find cover!”

_“Alpha Team, this is Echo! Those anti-aircraft artillery are getting in the way!”_

“Affirmative!” Chris shouted into comms over the roar of the giant. “We’ll take care of them for you.” He glanced over his shoulder at his men as his team filed in, creating a wall between Sherry and her mercenary and the giant. “Alright, Team! There are three turrets— split up and take them out so Echo can bring this thing down!”

“Chris! We’ll give you a hand!”

Jesus, Sherry— “Out of the question!” Chris barked as his men broke off and headed into the broken houses surrounding them. “You need to get to safety!”

“Don’t worry about me,” Sherry insisted, pulling out a gun that looked too big in her small hands. “I can take care of myself, and you need the help!” As Sherry volunteered, Chris heard the mercenary complain.

“Christ,” the man grumbled, following Sherry for some unknown reason. “My chances of survival were higher when I was a soldier of fortune.”

Chris could relate— despite everything that had happened that prompted Chris to leave the Air Force, it had been a cakewalk compared to the BSAA. “Everyone, find a turret and blow it sky high!”

“I’m with you, Chris,” Sherry said. 

“Then I’ve got the merc,” Piers bit out, glaring at the stranger. “Finn, with me as well!”

“Yessir!”

“Stick close, Sherry,” Chris ordered, relieved she was with him if she had to be in this fight at all. “Head for that open yard.” There was a Flakvierling 36 mounted to the ground, one of the anti-air artillery weapons they needed to take out, J’avo surrounding it. Chris had about four grenades and a shitty plan, but he’d done more on less. “You’re getting out of here alive, you got it?”

“Of course,” Sherry affirmed, running at his side as the thundering steps of the giant faded, heading after someone else. Chris had faith in his team, but it still did nothing for the nerves. “You know— I’ve always wondered if being a badass was Claire’s thing or if it ran in the family!”

Chris fought to keep a smile from his face despite the situation as he brought his ACR up and brought the infected down with Sherry’s help. “It’s the Redfield genes,” he said, lulled into a false sense of security. Sherry knew how to shoot and she was professional, but oddly at ease in a combat situation that most people wouldn’t be able to manage, even veterans. Chris wasn’t sure if it was from her surviving Raccoon City, or if she was just a tough girl all around. Regardless, Chris was glad she could fend for herself— god knew what Leon would do if he founded out Sherry was out in an infected war zone with no combat ability whatsoever.

Sherry then impressed Chris with three clean shots to a J’avo’s head, the skull bursting open. Sherry Birkin was more than good, apparently— she was _skilled._

“Does Leon know you’re out here?” he asked gruffly as they worked, treading thin ice but needing to do it.

“He doesn’t,” Sherry replied, her tone regretful. “I haven’t— I don’t even know if he’s alive.”

Shit. Chris pulled his knife out as his gun ran empty, slamming it home in the the temple of an infected, yanking the blade out and sucker punching the thing to the floor. It bought him enough time to pull out his next clip and slam it home, gun back up and firing steadily. “He’s alive,” he told her. “He won’t be happy when he finds out you’re out here.”

“I didn’t have a choice.”

Chris looked to her in alarm, suddenly terrified she could have been blackmailed into service the same as Leon. But the look in her eyes was different. Whereas Leon was always carrying the weight of defeat, she was determined. Sherry wasn’t be manipulated— she was fighting for something. 

Good.

“Things went from bad to worse for him,” was all Chris could say, taking out the last infected and glancing back as a sudden thud sounded from behind, his team taking down one of the other artillery guns already. He watched the giant stumble beneath the fire of the second gun, Piers tearing into the BOW from the control’s seat. “Leon didn’t— he had no control.” He stooped down at their gun, bringing out the grenades. “He didn’t have anything.”

Sherry nodded, visibly struggling for words. Chris wondered if it brought her joy or tore her apart to be talking about Leon.“When he left— I just didn’t— I mean, I thought I’d been abandoned again!”

Chris flinched. “Leon would never leave you.”

“I know,” Sherry assured him. “That’s why I was so worried, you know? Cause I knew Leon wouldn’t leave me behind unless he didn’t have a choice. And when he stopped coming to visit…” She paused, her expression stormy. “I may have a legally binding father, and my real father may be dead, but Leon’s my _father_. I won’t give up on him.”

Sherry then went down on her knees beside Chris and looked to him with a firm jaw. “Tell me what to do.”

Chris passed her two grenades. “Get a safe distance and pull the pin— we throw them at this thing on my mark. Try to actually land the toss, got it? All we need to do is take out the controls.”

“Got it,” she replied, taking the grenades and holding them with familiarity. “I guess I gotta tell Claire that badass really does just run in the family.”

Chris smirked and stood, stepping behind some cover and waiting for Sherry to do the same. Beyond them, the BOW threw angry fists into buildings, knocking them down like toys. Chris watched it warily, realizing it was starting to ignore Piers’s artillery fire and turning its attention to them. “Fuck— now!”

He and Sherry pulled the pins in unison, both of them tossing their part of grenades. Chris’s landed in the seat and on the dirt next to the gun, Sherry’s bouncing off the cannon and the other landing inside the frame of the cannons themselves. Chris covered his ears and braced for the bang, flinching at the harsh sounded but grimly satisfied. He peaked over his cover and saw the smoldering remains of the control seat, the inner mechanisms that allowed the artillery cannon to turn destroyed. “Good work!” he praised to Sherry as there was a thundering boom from far off, Piers and Finn and the merc blowing their gun to hell. “Now we just need—“

There was a roar— way too close and way too angry. Chris’s gaze snapped back as the giant stomped towards them, its huge hands reaching out. Sherry’s eyes went huge as the giant loomed above them, blood and torn flesh and saliva dripping from its mangled body as it reached for Sherry.

_“Thanks for getting those cannons outta the way— laying down cover now.”_

Rockets smacked the cobblestone before finding home in the monster’s flesh, the creature screaming and writhing and dropping to the ground, defeated so easily by the pilots that Chris wondered why they didn’t just always have air coverage for every op. Sherry let out a breathless laugh of relief and Chris draped his arm over his eyes for a second, hating how close that had been.

“That could’ve gone worse,” Sherry said, smiling shakily in a way that reminded Chris so much of Leon that it hurt. She stood and offered Chris her hand, not even looking back at the massive creature that slowly dissolved into nothing. Chris took her hand, letting her help him up, staring past her at the mound of liquidizing flesh. He felt a little sick just looking at it— imagining the smell— and wondered why Sherry wasn’t as curious as he was. Then again, she’d been so young when she’d first seen all of this. It was likely it was just so ingrained in her that she was unbothered by it all. “Hope I helped, Chris.”

“You’re invaluable,” Chris assured her, looking back to the young woman and squeezing her hand. “You’ve— grown a lot.”

Sherry grinned a little. “I’m not the same scared little girl, am I?”

“Definitely not,” Chris agreed. 

“I’ve got Claire to thank for that,” she said. “And Leon.”

Chris’s breath caught. Sherry noticed, of course, and gave him another grin, this one a little smaller, a little more sad. “Hey— he’s alive, right?”

Chris nodded, unsure of what had happened between Sherry and Leon, but glad to see she still cared for the man that had given it all for her. “He is. He’s still alive.”

“Good,” Sherry said. “That’s all I need to know.” She turned away as Chris’s men started hollering, waving down a helicopter— Sherry’s ride out of here. “It’s why I’m here, you know.”

Chris frowned as he looked back to her. “Leon isn’t in Edonia.”

“Well, no,” Sherry admitted. “But he’s in DSO. I got a deal from my father. I get to see the world, I get to have a little freedom, and I do this. But what my father doesn’t know is that I took up the badge to find Leon.” She gave him a look that was so full of pride and determination that Chris really couldn’t see anyone _but_ Leon in her. It was heartbreaking, in a way. Leon had given his life to keep her from having to live through another hell— Sherry was walking into that hell just to follow him. What a horrible, yet beautiful thing. 

“He’ll be worried sick,” Chris warned her softly.

“I know,” Sherry sighed. “But that’s better than never seeing me again, right?”

She meant it rhetorically— Sherry knew exactly how much Leon loved her. Good. Chris reached out and pat her shoulder, giving her another nod, vicariously proud of the brave young woman Leon had helped raise. “Let’s get you home then, alright? So you can show Leon you’re ready for this.”

Sherry beamed at him and nodded, following Chris as he brought her back to the team. Her redheaded mercenary glared at Chris, jerking his chin back at Piers. “Your perfect little soldier wouldn’t stop snapping at my heels— maybe I should talk to someone about disciplinary action, considering I’m under the protection of the U.S. government and he’s being belligerent.”

Piers snarled, “You little fuck—” but Chris cut him off with a wave of his hand.

“It won’t be necessary,” he told the man. “Your ride is here— you’re heading back stateside, where Piers won’t be able to ruffle your feathers. Deal?”

The mercenary smirked and glanced back at Piers. “What do you think, pup? That good enough for you or do you gotta piss on my leg to assert your dominance before you’re happy?”

Piers was going to have an aneurysm. Sherry stepped in, between Piers and the man, and put her hand at his elbow, gently pushing him to the chopper. They had to leave. Thank god Sherry was getting the hell out of here. Chris ducked in, shielding his eyes from the dirt thrown by the rotors, and spoke briefly with the pilot, pulling out his phone for the evac site out of this place. He then reached out to Sherry, taking her by the elbow as she’d done for her mercenary, pulling her to the aircraft, “I already gave the pilot the coordinates,” he assured her, squeezing that elbow gently, remembering the tiny little girl that had held their hands so tightly as they walked away from Raccoon City, talking about getting a bird. She’d once mentioned Chris and Leon getting married so she could be Chris’s niece. 

“Thank you so much for your help,” Sherry said, reaching down to take his hand and shake it. “Really, Chris— thank you. I’ll give Leon my best.”

Jesus. Chris just nodded and took a step back, Sherry turning and the mercenary—

As the mercenary turned, Chris saw his side profile. A horrible sense of deja vu shot down his spine, churning in his stomach and making him feel sick. His hand shot to his gun on pure instinct and he knew something was really fucking wrong about that man. “Hey,” he called out, and when ignored, a little sharper— “Hey!”

The merc stopped, turning to face Chris slowly, his expression guarded. Chris didn’t even know the man’s name but he knew his face. “Have we met?”

The merc smirked, sharp and cold, and shrugged his arms in the air. The smirk itself was more familiar than the man’s face, raising gooseflesh across his skin. “You know you jarheads all look the same to me, pal, sorry.”

Chris wasn’t sure what he had been expecting. He reflexively put his arm out without even having to look back, catching Piers from charging forward and starting a fight again, the young soldier growling, “You gotta be kidding me!” Chris was a little tickled by how obviously Piers wanted to get his hands on this man, but he really wasn’t surprised.

“My mistake,” Chris called out, knowing it wasn’t a mistake at all. What mercenary didn’t have something to hide? Ada Wong was a mercenary too, in a way, and Chris was pretty sure Ada Wong wasn’t even her real name. He looked back to Sherry and gave her a fond smile. “Have a safe flight.”

Sherry grinned at him, walking backwards to the chopper, waving and saying, “Say hi to Claire for me!” She disappeared into the back of the chopper with her mercenary, the craft smoothly lifting into the air. 

Piers yanked himself away from Chris, scowling at the floor, all prickly at the edges. Chris had never seen anyone get under Piers’s skin that easily. As Chris watched the copter leave, Piers walked away, took a moment to breathe, and then came back to Chris, speaking urgently. “Captain, we’re crazy for letting him walk away.” Were they? Piers had recognized him as an insurgent, but Chris hadn’t. “How many men have we lost to mercenaries like him?”

Too many to count— but Chris had another battle at hand. “He’s not our problem,” Chris told Piers gently, trying to help him calm down and understand. “We can’t lose sight of the BSAA’s mission.” They had too many fish to fry. Maybe once the virus were off the market, then they would be free to go after the peddlers, but their mission right now was to save as many people as they could from this outbreak. Getting sidetracked would only cost more lives than it could save.

Piers listened to him— he always listened to Chris— and then gave a slow nod of affirmation, letting his argument drop. As Chris turned away, he heard Finn come forward and tell Piers, “To fight bioterrorism, Sir.”

Jesus fucking Chris, this kid—

“I know what we’re here for, rookie,” Piers huffed. Behind them, the rest of the team laughed, and Chris let himself bask in the swell of affection in his chest for a moment.

Chris— had gotten so unbelievably lucky with this team of his. Piers, Andy, Ben, Carl, and now Finn. All of them good men, all of them good soldiers, all of them the best people could hope to have at his side. Efficient and willing to put it all on the line for the greater good, working seamlessly together and trusting Chris to look out for them. 

And Chris would look out for them— he would die for them. Happily and wholeheartedly, if it came down between him and his men, Chris would choose his men every single time. There was no one more worthy of making it out alive from these places as his team. They put it all on the line again and again and again and Chris would rather die than fail them.

Chris turned to his team over his shoulder and gave them a rare smile. “Let’s move out,” he ordered, feeling another overwhelming wave of pride as his men immediately spurred into action, jogging forward to meet him. They were heading into city hall, the large building in front of them of Greek architecture with red flags hanging from the large ceiling alongside pillars of white marble. Chris moved for it, stopping just outside, scanning the building quickly for signs of life. As much as Chris hated fighting in the open streets, he hated tight, contained spaces even more. Trading fear of long range enemies from the windows for fear of anything bursting around from a sharp corner wasn’t Chris’s idea of a good situation, but they didn’t have a choice. They had to find the origin of this outbreak and get it contained, taking out as many BOWs along the way as they could manage.

Chris waved Ben, Carl, and Andy in, stepping aside to let them infiltrate City Hall first, glancing back to ensure Piers and Finn were still with him. The bang of the doors being thrown open made Finn flinch, and Chris gave him a wry smile, unable to judge him for being so on edge. Getting Sherry and the mercenary out of here had almost felt like the completion of the mission, but that sadly wasn’t the case. Chris didn’t know how much longer they’d be boots on the ground, but he knew they still had a long ways to go.

“Captain— you’re gonna want to see this.”

Chris looked back to City Hall at Ben’s words over the comms. He frowned and moved in after his men, listening to Piers and Finn’s footsteps behind him, filtering that out to train his ears for any sounds in the large building. The place was filled with warm light that somehow felt sinister, the red carpet beneath his feet plush and dampening his footsteps. He saw his men had broken through into another room down the hall, what looked like a grand foyer that reminded Chris a lot of that castle in Spain. 

Chris moved down the hall, eyes pealed for whatever Ben had thought he’d need to see. Everything looked—

Chris halted in his steps as he took in the sight of what looked like flesh covering the surface of this hall. It was a pink color with flakes and squirming bits, alive but unlike anything Chris had ever seen. It wasn’t like the T-Abyss or G-virus and it wasn’t Plaga growth either. There was something oddly… firm about it. Like a shell or a casing. And this observation was further supported as Chris took in the true horror of the room.

There were people— dead people, probably, all of them encased in this strange mass, their limbs open like they’d been trying to run, faces strangely featureless yet still recognizably horrified in their death throes. Whatever this substance was, it had consumed these poor people, and _fast_. Fast enough that the people had had enough time to run away ad feel fear, but fast enough to encase them completely and smother the life from their bodies. Faster than anything Chris had ever seen. Chris had no idea what this was. He couldn’t help but wonder if that mercenary Sherry had been escorting really did have something to do with all of this. Mercenaries sold these viruses to the highest bidder— maybe that redheaded merc had been the one selling to the Edonia rebels. Maybe Piers had been right in wanting that man’s head.

A shudder tore through Chris as he took this all in and looked to his men, glancing them over, worried he’d see this squirming mass of infection clinging to his team. He didn’t know what he’d do if his men suddenly ended up like these poor victims, forever frozen in this squirming shell, becoming statues of infection. The grand room itself had a statue of its own, marble and elegant, standing in front of a set of curved staircases that led to the next level. Chris took a deep breath, seeing their way forward and pushing this disturbing discovery from his mind. Whatever it was, it was officially just another thing for him to kill.

“Okay,” he said, struggling to settle the feeling in his chest. “Spread out— search this place from top to bottom.”

“Copy that,” Andy said, moving into the room, quicker than Chris would like. 

“Are these… people?” Finn asked, voice shaking.

“I’m picking up life form readings,” Carl said. “It’s like they’re in cocoons.”

Jesus, these people were still alive? Chris eyed one of the poor victims, wondering if they could be cut out of the casings and saved. He pressed his finger to comms, intending to get HQ to send a team in after them and try to get these people out, when a door upstairs suddenly slammed shut. “Who’s there?!” Piers shouted, whipping his rifle up to peer along the rampart surrounding the room, another excellent place for enemies to hide and pick them off from above. Chris didn’t like this— not one bit. He grimaced and looked back at his team, cutting his hand to signal for two of them to head up. Finn and Ben darted up the stairs while Piers and the others stayed down with Chris.

“I don’t like this,” Piers told him, echoing Chris’s earlier sentiment. “These people— maybe this has happened before, maybe a virus or a parasite has managed to consume like this, but I don’t think anyone’s actually been left alive underneath.”

Chris looked to the marble statue, where the mass spread upwards and curled around the marble, human hands desperately reaching out from the disease. “It’s awful,” Chris said. “But we can’t do anything about it right now. We have to find the source and see if we can end this before it gets any worse.”

“Over here!” Finn suddenly called out from above. “I’m getting a reading from the other side of this door!”

Chris wasn’t sure if he was relieved or only more anxious. “Piers, Finn— you’re with me. Everyone else, keep searching out here.”

“Copy that.”

“Copy.”

“HQ,” Ben said into comms as he headed back down the stairs. “Three of us splitting off from the group. Heading further into the building.”

Chris went up with Piers and met Finn, giving the kid a firm nod, signaling him to step aside, and trying not to think about just how many human figures he’d seen trapped in this awful fleshy substance while climbing the stairs. The door was locked— Chris kicked it in without hesitation, whipping up his ACR and aiming his sights down the hallway that was revealed. This area was decidedly less well lit than the previous, and even quieter. Chris could hear Finn’s shaky breaths and Piers’s steady ones. He could feel his own pulse racing in his wrist.

There was blood on the floor and walls, flies zipping about. Old blood, then, implying this place could be ground zero of the outbreak. There were broken windows at the end of the hall that were barred up with planks of wood and Chris approached them warily, suddenly nervous for having brought Finn. He should’ve kept a more seasoned soldier with him, he should have someone who knew what they were doing, not the wet behind the ears rookie who was fighting past the shakes of an adrenaline crash. Jesus, Chris was already fucking this up.

There was blood _everywhere._

Chris rounded the corner and saw a woman. He froze. As fast as she’d been there, she was gone again. Chris quickly brought back the image of the woman in his mind. Pale, dark hair, blue suit jacket with a blue skirt, a smattering of something red around her neck, and heels. Not dressed for combat, not an assailant, not someone who should be down here.

A civilian.

Chris sprinted down the hall before he could be smart about it, pursuing the woman, needing to gather out of the combat zone. He was halfway down the hall when a door suddenly burst open, an infected man screaming in his face. Chris reeled back on his heels, startled and stupid for a split second, his body wide open for teeth to sink into—

The infected’s skull was suddenly split open by a high caliber round, Piers making the shot to cover Chris’s ass. It gave Chris enough time to bring up his own gun and spray the infected with his own rounds, putting it down for good. “I saw a civilian!” he shouted back to Piers and Finn as the infected dissolves on the ground and Chris breaks into a sprint again. “In pursuit!”

“Chris, wait!”

“Captain!”

Chris ignored them, running recklessly down the hall, forgoing stealth and general safety in favor of finding the civilian. It was a miracle she was still alive, one Chris wasn’t going to let slip through his fingers. They needed to reach her and get her to evac— City Hall was decidedly overrun, this was no longer safe for her. If Chris could get this one civilian out, then this would all be worth it, all of the horrifying death in the grand foyer, all of the loss of life. Just this one person saved and everything would be worth it in Chris’s mind.

He burst out of the halls into another large room, overlooking the level below, the entire place decrepit and decaying. The paint was peeling from the walls and what had once been furniture was no in shambles on the floor, papers and books strewn across the stained carpet, the entire room smelling like mold and rot. In the center of the room below were more people frozen in time, that substance coating them like a caterpillar cocoon. Chris recoiled, but then fell back into step, desperate to find the civilian. He saw a break in the railing that would allow him to jump down down, lunging for it and leaping, hitting the ground below a little too loud.

As his boots hit the floor, there was a cracking noise. Chris looked up, eyes trained on the grotesque human figures, watching the shells suddenly split open from the back, a bubble of flesh bursting from the cocoon, twitching and growing rapidly, sounding like stretching rubber and tearing leather. Chris staggered, suddenly terrified that this virus could be airborne and he was about to breathe in the fresh spores from human carriers.

Instead, this new creature revealed itself to be something much worse.

“It’s hatching, sir,” Piers said grimly from above, his red laser sight trained on the new monster. It was a deep red like the blood seen in a gouge in the flesh, and tall, almost ten feet high with thick arms and legs and a featureless torso and face, its back arched backwards like a mane of muscle and bone. As Finn dropped down beside Chris, Chris threw a grenade and yanked Finn behind cover, keeping the kid’s body against his own to absorb the worst of the blast. 

“Call it into HQ,” Chris told Piers. He looked down at Finn in his arm and gave the kid wry, tired grin. “You ready for this?”

Finn kept a stiff jaw and nodded. “I’ve got your back, captain!”

Chris nodded back and let him go. “On me,” he said gruffly before bringing up his ACR and firing from a safe distance, observing. The creature was slow and graceless, bumbling through what furniture was left in the room to try and reach them. Chris threw another grenade, trying to figure out if there were any weak points and how to exploit them. As the second grenade went off, the creature was stunned and dropped to its knees, his structure still extremely human beneath the changes. Chris took peace in the firing of Finn’s gun beside him, the two of them easily keeping the monster at bay. Chris was reminded distantly of William Birkin while facing this thing— he was grateful Sherry really was out of this place.

“It’s like a tank!” Finn shouted, as he reloaded, Chris covering him. “How do we take it down?”

“Fill it with lead until it can’t get back up!”

Piers’s advice was as good as anything Chris had. His mind was on that civilian as he kept up the rounds and breathed a little easier with every time this thing failed to recover as quickly. It was resilient, but it was slow, and its blows were just a clumsy swing of its hulking arms. Even BSAA could keep this thing on its toes despite the gear they were weighed down with. As long as no one got cocky and stopped paying attention, this was just another monster to deal with in a group. Chris hoped the rest of his team was fairing just as well as they were. Out of everything that could have come from those cocoons, this was decidedly the least of his fears. A few more bullets into its fleshy mass, and it was dropping to the floor, dissolving into the same flutter of flesh and spores as the other infected, which was—

Which was really, really curious. Were the J’avo and this thing really one and the same? Was it the same virus creating these things? How could that be? Were there different strains? Was this even a virus? The more Chris thought about it, the more alarmed he became. Such growth was more indicative of a secondary strain being involved, maybe even a parasite that was free thinking. Just what was this new BOW and how far could its range of abilities extend before Chris wouldn’t be able to handle the strain of keeping every little detail logged away?

“I think that’s it.”

Piers’s tentative judgement broke Chris from his thoughts. He looked around the room and saw the monster had actually swung and trampled through the other cocoons. So this thing really wasn’t intelligent at all, despite the intelligence seen in the J’avo. What an odd distinction, considering that, in the past, the larger BOW creatures had been the ones to show more intelligence and awareness, like the Tyrant and Nemesis and the further stages of Plaga infected.

BSAA’s R&D was going to have a field day.

“BOWs neutralized,” he said firmly, looking to Piers and Finn and glancing them over for any signs of injury or infection. If this BOW could spread through this growing substance but they hadn’t seen any evidence in the streets with the J’avo, then who knew how infection was actually spread at all. “Search the rest of this place, but stay on your guard.”

Finn scrambled for the only door that led out of here, slapping charges on the hinges and darting back to blow it open. Chris appreciated his proactiveness, giving the rookie a pat on the shoulder before pushing through the now-open door, searching for this civilian. He prayed she hadn’t gone far— this place was getting worse.

He strode through the following hallway, grimacing at how it was darker than the first. There were no more infected that he could see, which was good for the civilian’s odds to survive. Checking the doors down the hall revealed nothing but broken down rooms of ruined furniture, this place well beyond saving, condemned by the infection. Chris pushed open one of the last doors, ready to move on and keep searching for the woman, when something on the floor caught his eye.

“Piers, Finn,” he called out quietly. “Get behind me in formation.”

His two men quickly flanked him, weapons up as Chris crept into the room, surveying. It looked almost medical, with metal tables and curtains along the concrete walls and a mold stained white cot. His eyes were trained on the floor, though, and the syringes scattered across it. Not a good sign in his experience.

He approached the syringes carefully, seeing they were all empty and not being comforted by the fact. He thought immediately of the T and G-viruses and the Plaga, how all of them had been administered from syringes in the very beginning. Twisted human experimentation, scientists trying to play god and being funded by narcissistic villains with no respect for human life. Chris really didn’t like needles anymore.

“Captain.” Piers stepped past him, stooping down and lifting one of the syringes rather carelessly for Chris to take.

Chris took the syringe anyways, studying it, trying to see if there was any color left to the liquid for him to try and pinpoint as any recognizable virus. But jesus, even the syringes themselves were different from anything Chris had ever seen. They were smooth and almost artfully designed and capable of remote injection rather than a hand needing to force the needle. Whatever this was and whatever had been in here, it had been designed to decimate and destroy from the very beginning.

“C-Virus.”

Chris and his men all flinched back in unison, bringing up their rifles as that familiar female voice floated through the still air of the musty room. “That’s what the guerrillas were calling it. Nice to see the calvary’s here.” From the shadows came the same woman as before, her blue dress skin tight and gaudy with the red scarf draped around her neck, and her face—

“Who are you?” Piers demanded while Chris was too stunned to give the answer he already knew.

“I work here— my name is Ada Wong.”

Chris stared at Ada, trying to see if she had even aged. There was nothing in her face that had changed since Spain, nothing that spoke of the years that had passed since they’d seen one another. Chris almost thought she didn’t recognize him, but he knew she was too smart for that. 

“They held me hostage,” Ada said, turning her sharp gaze to Chris and giving a simpering smile. “I’m glad you came when you did— consider me happily rescued. Are you with the local military or someone else?”

She— didn’t recognize him. She didn’t recognize him? “C-virus,” he repeated slowly, ignoring her question and lowering his weapon, assuming she really had been held hostage. If she’d been under contract with the Edonia government to contain the rebellion, then it was likely she’d likely been blindsided by the sudden rise in insurgency and taken by the infected forces. “That must be what’s creating the J’avo.”

“Yeah,” Ada chimed in, her hands in the air in clear surrender even as Piers lowered his weapon as well. Finn still had his sights up— smart kid. “I heard them saying something about that.”

Piers eyed her with suspicion, which Chris really did approve. Ada Wong was a slippery one. “What else did you hear?”

Ada paused. “… Maybe you can put your guns down first.”

She took a step forward, which prompted Chris and Piers to raise their weapons again, expressions set. As far as Chris was concerned, she wasn’t out of the hot seat yet. Ada Wong had a bad reputation of peddling viruses. Even if this outbreak wasn’t her fault, Chris wasn’t about to just let her go. She stopped in her tracks, staring down the barrels of three rifles, and yet didn’t even look remotely perturbed. Again, how just like Ada.

“Not until you give us a reason to,” Chris said.

She put her hands up, visibly annoyed. “I guess you’re not American— innocent until proven guilty doesn’t seem to apply here.” She looked to the side, eyes flitting about with thought. Then she turned back to them and said, “Neo-Umbrella.”

Was she _fucking kidding._

Chris made a face, absolutely done with this shit. “Neo-Umbrella?”

“The organization supporting the guerrillas,” Ada said, being surprisingly transparent. It was funny— back in Raccoon City and Spain, getting any information from her had been pulling teeth, yet now she was suddenly spilling secrets like she couldn’t wring a sweet couple grand from BSAA as an informant. “Or at least, I think that’s what they were calling themselves.”

Fuck— if she knew something, Chris was definitely going to have to bring her in. And Ada Wong always knew something.

“That’s all I know.”

Chris doubted it.

“Thank you,” he said. “We appreciate your cooperation.” He lowered his gun again, and then nodded for his men to do the same. Ada dropped her arms with exasperation. How could someone who had been in custody of insurgents be this unbothered by the entire situation? “Finn.” Finn came close to Chris, eager for orders. “You’re in charge of keeping her safe.” If Finn was at the back with Ada, then that meant Chris and Piers could keep things safe by mowing down whatever got in their way. A win-win.

“Yessir,” Finn said, going to Ada’s side. Chris wondered if Ada was gonna be roped into Finn’s wide eyed innocence like she had been by Leon.

Chris turned away, facing the exit so he could whisper surreptitiously to Piers, “Keep an eye on her.”

Piers nodded, giving him a small smile, telling Chris he could trust him with his eyes. “Will do.”

Chris pressed into comms, reaching out for the rest of his team. “We found one of the staff. Returning to the foyer now.”

“C’mon,” Ada suddenly said, unprompted, heading for a red door to the left of the room. “I’ll show you a quick way back to the entrance.”

“That’s not shifty at all,” Piers grumbled from beside Chris before following Ada, dutiful to his orders. Chris didn’t like having the “civilian” in front, but he couldn’t do anything about it. 

Ada led them to a door that was just like all the others. Chris made to open it when sudden gunfire sounded from the other side. He cursed and brought his ACR up in unison with Piers and Finn, kicking in the door and his heart hammering at the sight of four of those huge monsters from the cocoons overtaking the hall, stalking towards Ben and Carl. 

Ben spat a curse as he reached down and pulled Carl up from the floor, the other soldier limping badly. “They’re everywhere!” 

“We’re never gonna make it out!” Carl shouted, being pushed further and further back by the monsters. 

“Everyone get to the second floor!” Andy called out from the upper level, waving for them wildly. “The foyer’s too dangerous!”

The situation had officially gone from bad to worse all over again. Chris ran for Carl and Ben, helping Ben carry the wounded soldier as Piers and Finn laid down cover fire. They retreated for the second level, Chris trusting Andy to have a route scouted out for them and some way to barricade their escape in, cutting these monsters off from them. He didn’t know if they had any equipment that could stand up to the brute strength of the infected, but they had no other choice.

“I’m alright, Sir,” Carl gasped as his limp steadily evened out, but his breathing didn’t. “I’m okay, it’s alright.”

“Just hold on to us,” Chris growled, practically carrying Carl up the steps. He saw Ada had a gun— and where the hell had she hidden that thing in her tight outfit— and was firing down at the BOWs on the floor. If she really was behind this, Chris didn’t see a point in her putting down her own investment. She really could just be a victim of the rebellion, just like the rest of this city.

“There’s a way out on the second floor,” Ada told him, her voice strained. “I suggest we take it.” She pulled Chris back by the shoulder, foolishly yanking him away from Carl, who stumbled a little but leaned into Ben all the same. Ben dug into his pockets, reaching for an herb to give his fellow soldier. Ada showed Chris an industrial, metal door with bars along the top. There was no handle.

“Piers, on me!”

“I got your back!”

Piers ran to Chris’s side, and they kicked the door in in tandem. Chris waved his team through after Ada went through first. Chris watched Ada press a button before an alarm sounded, his eyes going wide as he ducked in and only narrowly avoided being locked out. The door that swung down was even sturdier than the one before, but Chris really would have appreciated a warning. Beyond the door, the infected fumbled up the stairs and slammed against the walls, but to no avail. City Hall had apparently been built with some heavy attacks in mind.

“Your friends are having a hard time,” Ada simpered.

“Ma’am, please,” Piers sighed. “Just stay out of the way.”

Ada didn’t know how to do that. She strode forward over the bannisters of this room, the area large and looking down onto the lower level just like the room Chris had first seen the cocoon monsters in. Ada went to the other side, stopping. “This door leads to the warehouse next door. We can get outside through here.”

She knew the area well— it made sense if she really had been employed and captured here. But did she really not recognize him? How could she not, after sending Chris that picture Chris had tucked away in his BDUs? Ada _knew_ him…

Didn’t she?

Chris had a lot of questions that he knew he wasn’t going to get any answers to. All he knew for certain was that Ada was acting oddly and that he didn’t have time to care- getting everyone out of here alive was his one and only priority. His questions could wait.

Finn blew the door and revealed a hallway that was worse than any of the others before— it was like half this building had been under construction when everything had gone to shit, metal sheets making put the walls with steel bares keeping the structure standing. The hallway ended in a sheer drop down another level into an industrial style room, cargo and forklifts sitting around an otherwise empty area. Chris dropped down, seeing a lone cocoon in the center, watching it burst open from afar. He brought up his ACR, comfortable in taking these slow things—  
Chris’s eyes went wide and he barely had time to leap and roll out of the way as the monster suddenly charged for him like a wild animal, proving it wasn’t as slow as Chris had thought. 

Well that fucking sucked.

“I’ve got your back, Captain!”

Piers always had Chris’s back, and thank god for that. As Chris focused on keeping light on his feet— nearly impossible for him— Piers laid out his rifle from above, taking aim and leading his shots, steadily driving holes into the charging monster. Chris stuck to the walls, waiting until the last second to duck out of the way, letting the bumbling thing stun itself and allow a few deadly seconds that would beats undoing. He mentally ran through every man on his team, factoring in their sprint records and calculating if fighting one of these was feasible without long range cover from above. He was terrified for the rest of his unit— he was terrified these things were adapting in some way.

“It’s down!”

Before Chris even knew it, the BOW was slumping to the floor with a pitiful moan. Ada Wong swung down from above only once it was safe, giving Chris one of her placid smiles. “You’re faster than I thought you’d be.”

Chris wasn’t entirely sure what that meant. “Good job, Piers,” he called out instead of addressing her comment, cutting his chin down. “Let’s move!”

His team clambered down, all of them accustomed to Chris’s nonverbal order in these sorts of situations— stay safe and let Chris handle it as long as there was only one. He’d been doing this longer than any of them. He was the best weapon they had.

They moved as one into the part of the warehouse, Chris desperate to see a little sunlight. “We’re almost out,” he told his men and Ada, leading the group in a brisk jog, his eyes alert and heart pounding with the adrenaline. “Just hold it together, people.” The resounding chorus of “yessir!” helped soothe his frazzled nerves. What didn’t help with the coy chuckle Ada gave just behind him. Just what was she trying to do?

Chris led his men through the maze of tall, tin walls towards a set of stairs that led further down. As much as he hated closed quarters, he didn’t know how much worse the city had gotten since they’d taken to the buildings. Chris wasn’t about to just waltz his men from one bad situation to another. He went down the stairs first and waved Piers up as point with him, the two of them sweeping the corners and pushing open the industrial door that led into a room, likely bringing them into an underground system. His team followed suit, clearing the room with him, their harsh breathing echoing off the concrete walls. Chris didn’t notice anything wrong. Piers, on the other hand—

Chris felt the young man turn on his heel, scan behind them, and curse under his breath. “The woman— she’s gone.”

Oh fucking hell, Ada.

“Finn!” Piers shouted, causing the rookie to stumble, turn around, dart down the hall only a few feet, and then double back.

“I-I don’t know what happened!” he cried out. Chris could see the white of his eyes with how panicked he was. If only the poor kid understood just how slipper Ada Wong was— even the best of the best couldn’t keep track of her. “She was here a second ago!”

Chris reached out to the kid, meaning to comfort. “Finn, it’s all gonna be okay—”

There was a grate of metal on stone above him, and Piers was suddenly yanking Chris out of the room, the two of them hitting the ground as metal bars slammed down from the ceiling in the doorway, blocking Chris and Piers from Alpha Team. 

Chris’s heart stopped.

In the room, another set of bars dropped, caging Alpha Team in like cattle. Chris couldn’t breathe.

The world went utterly silent, the only noise being Chris’s blood roaring in his ears. He watched his team struggle, Finn yanking at the bars, his men knowing instinctually what was happening and what their chances were. Chris couldn’t do anything for them— he couldn’t do anything.

He was useless.

At the other blocked door, heels clacked, a woman walking forward. Chris looked to the approaching figure and forced the name from his mouth. “Ada.” As soon as he said it, his men all brought their weapons up, aiming at her slow approach. Chris’s hands were shaking. He didn’t know who to beg to save his men, but he needed to find them fast so he could grovel.

“Thanks for the escort,” Ada said, her voice soft and lilting. She was backlit by red lights that casted long, foreboding shadows across her gentle features. “Here’s something to remember me by.”

She threw something into the room— a small orb, a tiny little thing, an unknown variable, the end of it all. Chris still couldn’t fucking breathe and he was beginning to see spots. The orb burst, needles flying and piercing the flesh of his men. Chris was getting dizzy. Ada turned away, walking from the evidence of her actions, as Chris’s men began to writhe, twisting, clawing at their bodies, choking on gasps of pain.

Finn doubled over, screaming.

“No,” Chris whispered helplessly from the other side, clutching the bars, watching his worst nightmare come to life inches from his face. Air suddenly slammed back into his lungs, allowing him to lash out. “No, goddammit, no!”

Some sort of gas poured from the bodies of his men and Chris gagged, the air putrid. He couldn’t give up, though, he couldn’t let them die, so he slammed his body against the bars over and over and over, bruising his muscles and almost fracturing bone in his desperation to reach them and _help._

On the floor, Finn’s body was suddenly wrapped in flames that burned the clothes from his limbs. “Finn, hang in there!” Chris begged, yanking at the bars. “Not like this!” The rest of his men— Ben, Carl, Andy, they all burned the same, the flesh melting from their writhing frames. 

“Cap—tain—”

As Finn reached for Chris, Chris did the same, shouting Finn’s name, shoving his arm between the bars and desperately lunging for the young man, tears in his eyes. He watched as red matter bubbled across the skin of Finn’s face, washing away features, encasing him, smothering him, _killing him._ And just an inch from Chris’s fingertips, Finn went still. Deadly still. 

Chris blinked.

His men were cocooned. 

Finn was dead.

Chris slumped to his knees, not breathing all over again. He had—

He had failed. 

Of course he’d failed. He couldn’t do a god damn thing right by the people that mattered, he couldn’t keep anyone alive no matter how hard he tried. Every person assigned to him was walking willingly to their death, saying he was their hero when he was really their reaper. Chris stared at Finn’s mangled, frozen body and etched the image in his brain, punishing himself for every breath he took for the rest of his life while Finn was here, a corpse, another victim of the war he had failed to end.

What was the point of it all? Why did Chris keep going back out when he was the real reason his people were getting killed?

There was a cracking noise, breaking through Chris’s vicious thoughts. “Captain,” Piers said, pulling at his shoulder, trying to get Chris on his feet again. “Chris, we gotta move!”

Chris watched in tired defeat as something new broke through Finn’s shell, one of the infected, one of the things he was supposed to kill. Chris—

Chris didn’t want to move.

Chris didn’t deserve to make it out of here.

The bars lifted and the infected slammed its talons on the floor. “Now!” Piers cried out, sounding younger than he ever had before in his fear. “We gotta go!”

Chris stood. Piers was alive, Piers was still here, if Chris didn’t fuck this up again, then maybe Piers could—

As the BOW thundered toward them, Chris brought up his ACR only to realize he couldn’t pull the trigger. That thing had been Finn, _that monster was Finn, Chris couldn’t kill—_

“Chris!”

Piers shouting his name was the last thing Chris heard. _Finn_ barreled towards him, knocking Chris hard into Piers’s, Chris’s weapons scattering across the floor from the force of the blow. Finn grabbed Chris by the torso, pinning him to the wall and then slamming his monstrous fists into Chris’s fragile body over and over, snapping bones and rupturing blood vessels, and Chris didn’t try to escape. He deserved this, he deserved to suffer, he deserved everything Finn was putting him through, he deserved—

As Finn suddenly let up on the blows, Chris caught sight of Piers on the floor and suddenly remembered what Piers had been telling him to fight for.

_October 2nd._

Then Finn lifted Chris into the air like he was a toy and threw him to the floor, Chris’s skull cracking on the stone below.

And the world was gone.  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alright so fair warning y'all this one's gonna be a lil more of a mess than my normal standards. the time skipping and figuring out where to split up narrators and then making sure it all lines up *perfectly* for that one scene that I'm sure we all know and are eagerly awaiting-- 
> 
> yeah, it's gonna be rough. 
> 
> gonna do my best! but please ;u; go easy on me. re6 is a canonical clusterfuck.

_“Leon.”_

_The voice was as gentle as Leon had always known it, reassuring and quiet and controlled, the voice of someone who Leon could look to, could turn to at his worst, could trust. The voice of a father, the only one he’d ever had. The voice of a leader and a mentor and a saving grace all rolled into one. And now…_

_The voice of the only person he had left._

_“Leon.”_

_Leon looked up— looked at Adam Benford, President of the United States and Leon’s only surviving friend. His only family. His only _anything.__

_Adam Benford looked down at him with an unending sadness in his eyes. “Leon.”_

_Leon wet his lips and looked back to the floor where he was sitting, knees to his chest, arms crossed in front of himself as a defense. He was in some random room in the White House, most likely a place Leon wasn’t supposed to be, all things considered. He was the friend of the president, but he wasn’t the president himself. He couldn’t just go running off, hiding away in dark corners to protect himself and shield himself from the horrors of the world. He couldn’t just_ hide _here. He couldn’t escape._

_Leon shut his eyes and focused on breathing._

_“I’m so sorry, Leon.”_

_Leon— was sorry too._

_The words still rang in his head. The phone call he wished he could erase from his memory. Jill Valentine and her careful sadness, the heartbroken tone that had hitched with sobs as she told Leon what had happened and shattered everything Leon had built._

_Chris was missing._

_Chris was more than likely dead._

_An op in Edonia gone wrong, an attempt to keep an outbreak from taking place with a newly discovered virus that Leon still hadn’t been fully briefed on. Chris had been charged with heading into the thick of it and keeping the infection under control at the risk of his own life and the life of his men. And Chris, as always, had accepted, because that was just who Chris Redfield was. A fighter. A leader. A hero._

_And now Chris was gone._

_“There may be some hope,” Adam told him, crouching beneath him and giving Leon a dose of reason that Leon couldn’t accept. “They still don’t have a body and Agent Nivans has been tasked with searching for him. The BSAA thinks he could still be alive out there. You can’t give up.”_

_“Don’t tell me what I can and can’t do,” Leon replied dully, unable to feel much of anything once his heart had shattered so viscerally and completely by Jill Valentine’s words. “There’s nothing, Adam— there’s nothing left.” Everything Leon had fought for, everything Leon had been working towards. DSO and remaining under Simmons’ cold authority, heading into apocalypses and tearing his way out for the sole purpose of living to be another day closer to seeing Chris. “There’s no hope— it’s all gone.”_

_“Don’t say that,” Adam pleaded softly, his voice strained with pain that couldn’t match what Leon was suffering. “There’s always hope, Leon, that’s what I’ve been trying to teach you since the day we met.” Since Harvardville airport, since Leon had screamed his throat raw in an elevator, since he’d fallen apart into a thousand tiny pieces that no one could hope to glue back together. No one but Chris, and now Chris was gone. “They haven’t given up and neither should you. There’s still a light in the darkness, Leon.”_

_“Lights are often reported by people who die and come back to life,” Leon replied in monotone. “Didn’t think you’d suggest I give up to that extent.” He was being morbid and he knew how much Adam hated it, but Leon couldn’t help it. Everything was just— despair. The air, the ground, the sky, his hands, his limbs, his skin. Everything was over._

_Adam watched him, obviously trying to see if Leon was going to just eat a bullet in front of him. Rot was on Leon’s hip but he could never do it. Call him crazy, call him fucking insane, call him a glutton for punishment, it didn’t matter. Leon had come this far. He had nothing left to fight for, but all he knew how to do was keep going. “I’m here for you, Leon,” Adam suddenly said, reaching out slowly so Leon could see the movement and laying his hand across Leon’s knee. “I will always be here. I will always be fighting for that world you wanted for us— why don’t we make it happen anyways? For Chris.”_

_Leon appreciated that Adam was beyond trying to show Leon how unhealthy his obsession with Chris was. Adam had finally understood that sometimes broken people were never put back together the same way. The court case against his parents had been step one of Leon’s slow decent into the grave. Losing Chris would be the dirt on his casket, but—_

_Leon tightened a hand in his hair, pulling a little too sharply to be safe. “… Yeah. I can do that.” Adam had given him so much, had given the world so much. And Adam needed him to get DSO up and running. It had been a constant struggle since its instatement in 2011, Simmons being a fucking dick as always and dragging his feet. Maybe Leon wanted to give up and give in, but he couldn’t just break his promise to Adam— his promise to help Adam see a better, and safer world._

_The world Chris deserved. The world they would have thrived in— together._

_“For Chris,” he repeated in a ragged whisper, knowing he would never be able to end his own life for the idea of how much it would hurt Chris to have known. “So I can face him in the afterlife.”_

_Adam squeezed his knee. “I promise, Leon,” he beseeched. “I won’t let you down. I’ll be with you every step of the way.”_

The memory faded into the echoes of rotting meat and screams. Leon stared down his sights to Adam’s putrid corpse, the man tearing chunks from the body of one of his SS men, Adam’s teeth sinking in flesh and tearing muscle from bone. The wet sounds of sinew being ripped apart had Leon flinching, twitching, staggering back from the scene and breathing sharply as he struggled to witness and understand this final blow, this last wreckage of trauma that would finally be what did it for him. Sherry, Chris, now Adam— 

It was all gone.

Adam stood, turning to him from over his shoulder, and Leon felt like he was going to vomit. 

_“I have always valued your friendship, Leon.”_

Adam smiled, sharp and twisted, at him, flesh rotting, all teeth and blood. 

Leon was shaking. “Stay right where you are.”

He couldn’t do it, he couldn’t make the disconnect— it was gone, his one ace in the hole was gone now too, his ability to see human as human and dead as _dead._ He tried to see this thing as a zombie, as a monster to put down, but his mind refused, only seeing Adam, _Adam, Adam, Adam_ and Leon was going to lose his fucking mind.

Adam shuffled towards him, one foot dragging across the ground, the friction of a leather sole on carpet fraying Leon’s sanity. Adam reached for Leon, his rotting flesh clinging to bone. Leon didn’t know if the blood on Adam’s clothes was his or someone else’s. Leon didn’t think he could make the shot.

Adam staggered, limped closer, reached out with both hands. Leon watched him, searching those empty eyes for some sign of life, some measure of hope, some iota of a possibility that he could find a vaccine and bring Adam back, bring _his friend_ back. “Mr. President!” he called out sharply, shaking Rot in his hand, trying to scare Adam into failing to advance any further. Could he do this? Could he put Adam down? Could he kill the last measure of family Leon had left?

If Adam reached Leon, then Leon would let him devour him.

And just as Leon had this thought, Adam— fatefully— turned away. He stumbled towards the woman at Leon’s left, the brunette with the youthful face and the anger in her voice, the woman Leon was trying to help. Adam made for her and her young body, choice meat compared to Leon’s diseased flesh. Leon’s hands began to shake worse than before as he was faced with an impossible decision. It was one thing to let himself fall—

It was another for an innocent to be claimed by the horror of these worlds yet again. 

The woman wasn’t making the shot, god, Leon almost wished she would, wished she would save him from this one terrible thing, but the world was never that kind, and especially not to him. Please make the shot, _please make the shot_ , don’t make Leon do this, don’t make him—

“Don’t make me do this,” Leon whispered, begging the world for one single measure of mercy. Cruel as ever, the world ignored him. Adam was only a foot from the woman who was freezing, the poor thing naïve to this terrible fate. Leon felt his body protest the movement of his finger. This would be the end of him, one way or the other.

Adam reached for the woman, staggering closer and closer, his fingernails scraping pale skin, and Leon saw his last chance for a better world dissolved. With a shout of Adam’s name, Leon pulled the trigger, sending a bullet through the skull of his best and only friend, a nail in his coffin, a final ticket to the hell he had no choice now but to call home. Blood splattered, flecking the walls and floors and Leon’s mind— Adam’s blood. The body dropped. The room went dead silent.

Leon lowered Rot and— had no idea what to do from here. For once, his mind was empty, filled only with white noise as he breathed out slowly and looked at the corpse on the ground. The disconnect _still wasn’t there,_ his mind foolishly insisting that Adam could have been saved if Leon had just failed to take the shot and actually handled shit like the professional he was. The T-Virus had vaccines, there had been hope, Leon was a fucking _failure_ and _Adam had paid the price for it._ Oh god, oh fuck, Adam was _gone._

There was the hitched noises of strangled sobs as Leon walked towards the body on autopilot. “It’s all my fault,” the woman said, which— Leon didn’t know if it was her fault or not, didn’t even know who she was in the first place. He was still unable to process what he had done, what this meant for him and his shattered psyche and his future— what it meant for the country’s future, the _world’s_ future. “I… I did this.”

Leon looked to her and wondered why the fuck she thought this was her fault in the first place. Anger bubbled beneath the surface, but nothing like Leon knew he should be feeling. Whereas Leon always felt rage with every death he experienced to these viruses, the anger he felt now was only— habit. He knew he should be angry, so he was, even though everything else was just empty. But emptiness was terrifying, so Leon was going to become familiar with this anger.

“What are you talking about,” he growled slowly, seeing something to rage against, something to fight, _someone._ If this was her fault— If Adam was gone because of her—

The woman looked away from him, unable to meths eyes for long as if she was ashamed— or hiding something. She looked to Adam and wiped useless tears. “Tall Oaks Cathedral,” she said. “I’ll explain everything there, Agent Kennedy.”

Why the fuck couldn’t she just explain it all now?

Wait, how—

“How do you know my name?” he asked, finding that detail far more suspicious than anything else she’d babbled about blame and faults. Leon’s assignments were published for certain levels of Intelligence clearance, but _never_ with a photograph ID. There was no way she should know his name connected to his face no matter what credentials she could have that allowed her to carry a gun around in a place under the highest levels of security. Leon was about to dig deeper, dig into _her_ , when a phone suddenly rang. He flinched and looked to his pocket, brain slowly coming back online. There was an emergency— an outbreak. Leon had just killed Adam, the President of the United States. Impossibly enough, things were only going to get worse from here. Leon reached for his phone, but realized it wasn’t his that was ringing, it was—

“Yes?”

Leon strode to the woman’s side, seeing Hannigan’s face and only feeling more lost. “Hannigan!”

 _“Thank god you’re both alright,”_ Hannigan breathed, audibly relieved.

“How do you two know each other?” Leon demanded.

 _“That’s Helena Harper,”_ Hannigan said, actually answering Leon’s questions, unlike _someone_. Behind Hannigan, men and women sprinted around the room, a state of emergency contrasting the calm control of Hannigan’s voice. Ever the professional. _“She’s been with the secret service since last year. I can’t tell you how good it is to hear you two are alright. Look, I hate to rush the introductions but I need to hear a report on your situation.”_

Leon and _Helena_ looked to Adam. How— how was he going to tell Hannigan this? What was going to happen? Would he be tried and executed? Part of him hoped he would be, but that was the ruined part of him that wouldn’t look in the mirror. The part of him that was angry— for Sherry, for Chris, for _Adam_ — refused to go down that easy, but…

He couldn’t lie.

“I…” God, just trying to get the words out was like facing his worst nightmares. He shook himself slightly, just enough to make the last parts of his brain wake up and face reality. “I just shot the president.”

Hannigan flinched. _“What are you—”_

“He had already been infected by the time we found him,” Helena interrupted quickly, surprisingly coming to Leon’s defense. Her mind was sharp— unlike her trigger finger. “Leon…” Helena looked up at him and Leon stared back, unsure of what he was even feeling anymore. He had that anger warring with emptiness and now this— something like respect for someone he barely knew. And Leon was well aware of how dangerous that was for someone like him. “Leon did what he had to do. He saved my life.”

Hannigan was quiet on the screen. _“God help us.”_

Funny— Leon had never pegged Hannigan for the religious type.

_“Alright. I’ll submit the report.”_

Leon was going to be fucking arrested, jesus, he was definitely moving more towards anger now. Fuck these viruses, fuck the people that throw them around like eggs on houses, fuck everyone who let this shit happen, and fuck them for ruining the last damn thing Leon had. Fuck all of it and everything and fuck this god damn shit.

 _“You two just focus on getting the hell out of there,”_ Hannigan ordered. _“The virus has already spread three miles past the campus perimeter and it’s not slowing down.”_

Wait—

 _“You need to hurry,”_ she insisted.

They were just going to let these people die?

“Not before we check out Tall Oaks Cathedral,” Helena said, making just about as much sense as Hannigan. Fuck escaping and fuck the cathedral, these people needed _help_ and Leon wasn’t going to just abandon them. “Agent Kennedy’s got a lead that might tell us who’s responsible for this.”

Oh what the ever loving fuck, Helena Harper.

_”Leon, is that true?”_

Absolutely fucking not, holy shit.

Helena looked to him beseechingly, brown eyes begging for his help. Everything in Leon wanted to spit in her face, accept that anger and throw caution to the wind, but he was smarter than his anger and that was one of his biggest faults. Hannigan wanted them to leave and Helena wanted to go to some church. Out of the options being given to him by the two women, only one of those options actually aligned with what Leon wanted— to help these poor souls and give the people of Tall Oaks a fighting chance. 

God dammit— he was going to lie for this woman.

“Yeah,” he began cautiously, realizing he was going to have to think on his feet for this one. “I think I might have something.”

 _“Roger that,”_ Hannigan responded promptly, so damn trusting that Leon knew the guilt of this incident would probably haunt him for months— if this guilt could overshadow the agony of putting Adam down, that is. _“I’ll map out the safest access route. Keep your radio on.”_

Helena ended the call and tucked the phone away. Leon watched her expectantly, ticked off by her silence. “I got a lead?” he prompted stiffly, waiting for her to explain herself.

Helena nodded. “You will if you come with me.” She turned away, heading for the door already, and Leon scowled. He didn’t know who Helena Harper was or what the fuck she wanted from him, but Leon had just shot his best fucking friend, he wasn’t about to just ditch.

Leon ignored her and went to the body on the floor, crouching beside him—it, it, Adam was infected, this was an it now— and shook his head. The stench of rotting flesh was more than familiar at this point. Leon got closer than he should with how little he knew of the functions of the virus and stared at the corpse. “Adam… I’m sorry.” Useless apologies, really, but Leon had to say _something._ He hoped he would be allowed to see the funeral even if he were arrested. Adam wouldn’t want him to waste time either. Even after losing Chris, Adam had quickly pushed his thoughts onto the next big thing. If Leon didn’t think about it, he couldn’t suffer it. He just had to keep moving. He could _only_ keep moving. 

“So what’s so special about his church?” he asked Helena, standing smoothly, and slipping into the part of himself that always got him out of these terrible situations alive. “You have some sins to confess?” She better have something to tell him.

“It’s hard to explain,” Helena hedged, looking like she understand just how much fucking bullshit she was spewing. “If I don’t tell you at the cathedral… you may not believe me.”

Leon wasn’t sure he’d believe her no matter what— for the few minutes he’d known her, she hadn’t done anything to earn his trust. Giving him vague answers and outright forcing him to lie wasn’t exactly how people got on his good side. Still.

Leon held Rot at the ready down by his hip, leaving the room with sickening gratitude. He should hate himself for wanting to leave Adam like that, crumpled on the floor, but Leon’s mind was already on the next task at hand to cope. He had to keep moving before he drowned beneath the waves of what he’d done. He got to the door and realized he needed to lay down an ultimatum. “You’re gonna tell me everything once we get to the cathedral,” he told Helena firmly with authority he rarely used. His hand rested as a fist on the doorframe. He looked down the hall and wondered if the gorgeous small town of Tall Oaks would ever recover, or if it would become another crater like Raccoon City. “Deal?”

“Deal,” she said. Leon wasn’t sure he even trusted that.

Regardless, he hit the doorframe lightly and then fell forward, heading down the hall. 

The place was old— the university was Ivy League and gorgeous, a small haven of the American Dream that Leon had wished he could have protected. He crossed into the next room, seeing what looked like an office with huge paned windows behind an old mahogany desk. The green lamp on the desk let Leon see the corpse that was slumped in the office chair. “Here too— things are getting out of control.” He went to the body, trying to see any clues for how this virus operated on the corpse. The body itself suddenly collapsed forward, going limp across the floor at his feet. Leon took a step back and hated how familiar this was to him.

A glance over the body told him nothing— no sign of infection that he could see despite the bite marks and blood that stained the floor and walls. So this man had been killed, but not devoured, and yet he hadn’t turned? Leon didn’t know what the fuck was going on, so he moved on. Back into the hall, tuning out how the wood creaked beneath his feet. 

The hall was alarmingly quiet despite the death Leon knew was existing just beyond the wood paneled walls. The wind howled and made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. He felt keyed up too tightly as he waited for something to jump out at him and go for his throat. Still, nothing happened, not even as Leon stepped into the foyer, moving from carpet to marble flooring, a clock chiming dolefully in the background. He rounded a centerpiece of curved, read, leather couches and eyed the fern in the middle with disdain. They waved gently to a draft, creating movement that had Leon’s instincts lighting up. This place was trying to give him a heart attack without giving him anything to really shoot at. And if he wasted the bullets—

He crossed the room for a set of tall, oak doors that he hoped would get them into the streets of Tall Oaks. He’d studied the layout of this place extensively when Adam had told him he’d be giving his fateful speech here, but not enough to navigate it cleanly in this kind of situation. Leon pressed against the door and looked back at Helena, wondering what her experience was with this scenario. “You see one of them, aim for the head. It’s your best bet.”

“Got it.”

Leon hoped she got it— he wasn’t going to be able to take another shot for her again. Not like the first one.

He shouldered open the door and cleared the upper level, looking down into the graduation hall with a grim expression. What had once been a beautiful set up of celebration was now a mangled display of destruction and fear. The balloons still floated untouched the air, by the dinner placings and the tablecloths were tugged and pulled aside, glass shattered on the floor, the stage a ragged mess. He swallowed thickly, hoping no one had been in here when everything had gone wrong. Few places to hide depending on how sensitive the infected were to sound. “This was where the reception was gonna be.” He fought back a defeated sigh. “They’d all be here eating dinner right now if…”

Helena didn’t ask him to continue. “You think anyone survived?”

Unlikely. “I hope so.” He moved on, rounding the walkway that surrounded the graduation room. He went to the stairs that brought them down a level, feeling his nerves flare as all of the dark wood and old lighting reminded him horrifically of RPD. “I can’t believe this is happening again,” he admitted. “It’s just like Raccoon.” He’d been fighting so fucking hard to ensure nothing like this happened on American soil ever again, and yet here it was, in his face, another failure for the book.

Helena was right on his heels. “The Raccoon City Incident. You were one of the survivors.” It made a little more sense now that she could know something like that. Leon’s files were accessible at the right levels of clearance. Knowing she was SS made it a lot more acceptable that she would know his name and face connected to a file. 

“I’ll never forget it,” Leon said as he reached the bottom level. “We’re going to this cathedral of yours— but if you really did have a hand in this, you can kiss your freedom goodbye.” So could Leon— _he’d shot the fucking president._

“I know,” Helena replied somberly. It was strangely not enough because Leon really didn’t think she knew. She didn’t know the half of it.

As he surveyed the ground floor for a few moments, he thought he saw movement across the room. Leon steadied himself with a hand on the bannister, peering between the tables and the decorations. He thought he saw—

Footsteps suddenly echoed from the other side of that room. “What was that?” Helena gasped, sounding more on edge than Leon.

“Only one way to find out,” he huffed, readying himself to hoof it. “Let’s go!” He ran through the maze of overturned chairs and tables, not daring to just climb over these things and risk making noise to draw attention to himself. The way the footsteps had gone led him into the kitchen, and he entered it with caution, slowing his steps and hating the tight corners. He heard a clatter from deep within the depths of the kitchen, peering into the dark room and seeing only cooking equipment. But he hears something again— a hollow thunk, like a for closing. “In the back,” he whispered to Helena, bringing Rot up, aiming his sights down the cluttered room. There was food on the prep tables, the staff likely having been in the middle of cooking when everything had gone to hell. The noise went on even further back, leading Leon to the other side of the kitchen and down a hall that likely led to storage and the exit. Around the corner just ahead, a trashcan toppled over onto its side. The lights flickered.

Leon didn’t like the look of that.

He rounded the corner slowly, his footsteps muted by spilled trash. There was an exit door at the end, one that Leon waited against, looking back for Helena to follow him. A ragged cough sounded on the other sign— another thing Leon didn’t like at all. As Helena joined him, her dark eyes frantic, he grimaced and gave her a reassuring nod before pushing the door open, Rot up.

In the dim light of a computer screen, a man in a suit and glasses bolted backwards, away from them, hands in the air. “Wait!” he cried out, voice breaking. “Don’t shoot!” The man doubled over coughing immediately after that. Leon lowered his gun, wondering if this was a sign of infection or just some sort of asthmatic spasm. 

Since Leon didn’t know, he put his gun away, moving towards the man and lifting him with a gentle hand on his arm. “Are you alright?”

The man shook his head. ‘The fog…”

“What?” Helena asked, brow furrowed. Leon didn’t know what the hell the fog was, but he was pretty sure this guy didn’t know either.

“The fog,” he repeated, voice wobbling. “It came out of nowhere!”

Behind them, there was a sudden low growl and then the high pitched scream of a girl. “Liz!” The man suddenly sprinted, pushing past them.

Leon reached out and grabbed him, trying to hold him back from the suicidal endeavor. “Wait!”

“Let me go!” the man shouted, yanking from Leon’s grasp.

“It’s too dangerous!” Leon hissed to the panicked man, unable to just watch him run into the jaws of death.

“My daughter,” the man choked out, grabbing something from Helena that she had picked up— a phone with a picture on it, a little girl smiling for the camera. “She’s all alone! If we don’t do something—!”

“Alright,” Leon snapped, covering the man’s mouth with his hands, needing him to shut the fuck up. “I get it. But if you don’t keep it down, you won’t live to save her. You understand?” The man nodded. Thank god for small favors. Leon let his hands slip away, allowing the man to look down at the picture on his phone like it was his daughter herself, whispering her name.

“Is that your daughter?” Leon asked rhetorically, needing to keep the man from actually doing anything stupid by keeping him talking. Leon also needed a better look at the photo. As the man nodded again, Leon studied the photo from upside down and grimaced. “Alright,” he said. “Let’s find her.”

Helena stepped forward. “Leon, we don’t have time to—”

“We’re making the time,” Leon interrupted firmly. The only reason he was following her insane babbling was because he wanted to keep as many people alive as he could. This wasn’t going to be another Raccoon City with a death count as high as the population. He was going to get someone— anyone— out alive.

He turned away from Helena to follow the father, watching him flick on a flashlight and lead them back through the kitchen. The place was suddenly noises than he remembered, metal shifting and things falling over at random. He barely flinched even as Helena let out quiet gasps of fear. She had to be young, didn’t she? Impossibly young to be in SS, but Leon wasn’t one to judge. The father kept farting further and further ahead, his footsteps too heavy. Leon hated escort missions. 

“Who turned the lights out?”

Helena’s question was a pertinent one as they returned to the graduation hall, the old lights off and the entire place swathed in darkness. “Stay sharp,” he mumbled, unable to even see the father at this rate. There was only a glow from the large windows, light from outside being the only thing that helped him from bumping into furniture. His headlight did little to illuminate the world in front of him, Leon barely able to see the father. Suddenly, lighting flashed, thunder crashed—

_—his parents kicking in his door, RPD station, Marvin Branagh rotting and reaching for him, Luis Sera skewered on a talon, Jack taunting him, the squirm of the Plaga beneath this skin, Chris driving a knife into Krauser’s infected body, spraying blood—_

—and Leon flinched, crying out too loudly, unable to keep silent as he was suddenly overcome with horrible, awful memories. 

Leon hated thunder. He hated lightning. Storms like these brought out the worst in his mind. Far too much pain in his life had the soundtrack of thunder behind it. Leon fought to swallow down the trauma and keep moving, hoping Helena didn’t see that and ask questions. The crack of thunder faded into howls and groans, echoing noises of horror that really wasn’t helping Leon’s psyche all that much. The walls creaked from the wind outside, the father darting forward and forcing Leon to follow him. It was like everything was too quiet and then too loud all at once, so when a chandelier suddenly dropped to the ground and shattered, spreading fire, Leon was almost relieved for the light and genuine sound.

“Hell of a draft,” he murmured as he reached the father, who had been abruptly halted by the chandelier crashing down.

“We need to find her,” the man insisted wildly. 

Like Leon didn’t already know that. He turned to the door to his right, taking the lead, wondering if the man even knew the layout of the place. “We will,” he promised as he pushed open the door that led back into the foyer. “Just stay close.”

“Thank you…”

As Leon moved slowly into the room, he wondered if he’d ever actually been thanked by a civilian before. Huh.

The father called out desperately for his daughter as he ran ahead again. Leon ignored him, his gut telling him something awful was upstairs, so of course he went for the upstairs. The huge windows that were two stories tall let in a little more light for Leon to train his sights up to the second level that overlooked below. “Please, Liz, answer me— it’s your daddy!” The fact that Liz wasn’t answering at all didn’t bode well. He moved up the stairs and grimaced at the sight of a body on the floor.

“Wonder how much time we have before these corpses are on their feet,” he mumbled. The T-Virus turned people pretty immediately after death. This inconsistency was making him nervous.

Thunder crashed again and Leon covered his head instinctively, choking on a cry and fighting back the memory of Saddler throwing Chris through the air like he was a doll no longer worth keeping.

Oddly, there was nothing upstairs. Leon didn’t like his gut failing him. He jobbed back down, meeting with Helena and the father , heading into the next room that held books and documents beneath glass cases, a historical museum of sorts. The father began to wheeze, sounding decidedly inhuman. Leon’s gut was flaring again— maybe it wasn’t the upstairs that was the point, but getting away from this man who was suddenly showing signs Leon didn’t like. “You okay?” he asked cautiously, standing a safe distance away.

“I will be once I find my daughter.”

Leon was starting to doubt that.

The father began to run again. “I called her cell, but we got cut off. I know she’s here… somewhere.” 

The man went for the exit door and Leon had no choice but to follow. They were led into an area that Leon couldn’t recognize as anything special, maybe a collection of office rooms. There was an elevator to their left that Leon hoped was still running. “I work here,” the father told them. “I have the keys to the elevator. Once we find Liz, we can take my car.”

“Let’s get moving, then.”

There was a sudden swell of tiny notes through the still air surrounding them— a piano being played somewhere off in the distance. Their heads all turned and Leon fucking _hated_ that. Too ominous to not be Hollywood in his opinion.

“Liz?” the father called out, running in the direction of the noise. “Is that you?” While creepy as hell, maybe the music was a good sign. This display of intelligence was a good sign that Liz was actually okay. But as Leon followed the father, the notes began to turn sour, chords no longer aligning, notes being played off key. Leon had a really fucking bad feeling about this, and yet he was walking right towards it. And he’d though the father was the stupid one.

Thunder crashed— Leon covered his face with both arms and ignored the cruel laughter of his father as his ribs snapped in his memories. 

“Are you okay?” Helena asked him quietly from behind, her voice cautious. He was probably not what she expected— a seasoned agent cowering to thunder like a child? Definitely not up to her standards, he was sure.

“I’m fine,” he whispered. “Let’s just get these two out of here so we can get to your cathedral.”

The music was growing steadily closer the further they went. Leon’s heart was racing as his stomach churned over, instincts insisting he run in the opposite direction. Nothing good could come from this gentle tune. The father disappeared around a corner, so Leon followed. At the end of the hall was a wooden doorway with a bloody handprint smeared down the front. There was a harsh clatter on the other side. Leon felt a little dizzy with the screaming of his nerves. “Careful,” he warned Helena as he approached the door, the father staying back out of some undefinable fear. He’d been so desperate to find Liz, but now— now they all knew they weren’t going to like what was beyond this door. And jesus.

What kind of person, dead or alive, played a piano in this kind of situation?

Leon put his hand to the wood by the bloody smear and pushed it open once Helena was at his side to cover him. The door swung inwards, revealing an open room with a grand piano in the center and blood all across the ground. Leon went in first and saw the bodies, saw the overturned furniture, saw the chaos, and—

Saw the girl.

She darted out in front of him, her skin pale and gray at the edges. Her brunette hair was tied back in a ponytail, a polo shirt and jean shorts being the only protection she had from the storm outside. There was blood on her calves and arms and the corner of her mouth. She was clutching her stomach and breathing shakily, audibly. Leon kept his gun up and aimed at her.

Then she dropped to her knees, and the father ran forward, shouting her name, so Leon dropped the gun. The father embraced his daughter, and Liz slumped into his arms. “Dad?” she called out weakly. “Where are mom and Liam?”

“They— they already got out,” the father said, sounding like he was lying through his teeth. “They’re waiting for us at home.” The father stood and slung his daughter’s arm over his shoulder. They could get out of here.

“This way,” Leon ordered Helena, watching the girl and her father warily. All of the blood on her and the bodies on the ground and the fact that she had been playing piano clashed in Leon’s mind, his knowledge of viruses coming up short for what this could be. He remembered a BSAA report floating around on something new on Edonia, a virus he’d never learned about, and had never been able to read it himself. Not when the memory of Chris was still so fresh in his mind. 

Leon follow behind the father and daughter, hating the rasping breaths the young woman was drawing in. “How do we get out of this place?” he asked as he realized that he didn’t have the credentials necessary to move about freely. Locked doors and codes were the bane of his existence. And if the man worked here, then he likely knew a better escape route than Leon despite his study of the layout.

“The underground parking lot,” the father replied, which that— yeah, that was just fucking great. Leon was immediately reminded of the Tyrant’s footsteps and the snapping jowls of infected mutts— how Ada had made a shot with little respect for his survival. Jesus— he hated everything about this place. “The elevator is up ahead— hopefully it still works.”

It probably didn’t because that was just his luck. Ahead, their way was blocked by lumbar that Leon couldn’t explain. It seemed like this place had been under renovations before everything had gone to hell. “Let’s get this out of our way,” he told Helena, lifting one side while she lifted the other.

“I’m glad you guys were here,” the father grunted as he carried his daughter through. Leon and Helena dropped the lumbar in unison, following the father once more. It was an agonizingly slow crawl down the halls, the wood creaking treacherously with every step. Even Leon’s own light feet did little to muffle their movement.

They finally reached the elevator, Leon and Helena following the father in. The man hit a button and the light inside flickered to life. He hit another button and the elevator— worked. It actually fucking worked, no strings attached.

What the _fuck._

As the lift descended, Leon’s good luck faded quickly when the daughter suddenly doubled over with a coughing fit not unlike her father’s. She went down on her knees and Leon took a step forward despite what he knew was happening. “It’s going to be okay, Lizzie,” her father said, sounding oddly like he was pleading with her to ensure his promise became a reality. But Liz wasn’t looking too good and Leon still didn’t know how the infection spread— or what the fog the father had mentioned really was. “You’re going to be okay.”

The girl lifted her head— her expression spoke of so much pain. “Dad,” she rasped.

“We’re almost there!” her father pleaded. She said nothing, only stared at him for a few seconds, and then dropped backwards with a soft hitch in her voice. She went limp and Leon reeled with whiplash— just like that, she was dead.

“Liz?” The father called out to her and shook her by the shoulders, desperately trying to bring her back. It was a futile effort and he seemed to know that. It only took him another moment to wail, leaning forward and crying loudly over the body of his daughter. Leon watched and kept his expression apathetic even as his chest twisted itself into pieces, exhausted of death. Helena looked to him like she thought they could do something— Leon shook his head because he knew they couldn’t. And all too soon, the wails died into another coughing fit not unlike what Liz had suffered before expiring. The lights began to flicker. 

Leon’s luck definitely wasn’t holding out.

The lights went out— the elevator became pitch black. “The power,” Helena whispered as the man continued to hack a lung before the coughs began ragged gasps and suddenly inhuman groaning. There was a wet sound and the sudden onset of the sour smell of rotting meat before the echo of teeth digging into flesh and the rip of consuming. Leon felt sick as he realized what was happening right in front of them.

Leon flicked on his headlamp and illuminated the turned daughter, her skin mottled with disease, eyes a sickly yellow. Leon was too stunned to move for a few seconds as the girl suddenly launched herself at him. Too quickly, Leon ran through his options and realized he was fucked. He couldn’t draw Rot in time, and even if he could, he wouldn’t be able to make the shot in such closed quarters with Helena right behind him. The father was going to turn in second as well. Helena didn’t know what the fuck she was doing. Leon was _fucked._

Liz lunged for him, growling deep in her throat, so Leon threw a fist and hit her hard enough to send her head cracking to the right. “She’s already gone, shoot her!” he shouted, praying Helena would grow a pair and help him this time. 

“But—”

So much for prayer— Leon didn’t have time for Helena’s inability. He tried to pin the infected to the wall of the elevator, but she threw him off with a terrifying show of strength and went for Helena. Helena was quickly pinned beneath Liz’s weight, giving Leon the chance he needed to whip Rot up and send a bullet into the back of Liz’s head at just the right angle for any possible ricochet to hit the wall in front of Liz and not Helena. It stunned the infected enough to give Helena the chance to flip them over and send a bullet of her own into Liz’s skull, putting the infected down.

Fucking finally.

Helena stood slowly, visibly reeling. “I… I can’t believe this.”

It had literally just happened in front of her. “Well get used to it,” Leon said firmly, not having the energy to coddle her. “It’s either them or us— and they don’t hesitate.” Not like Helena had. Leon could’ve died if he weren’t as seasoned with these viruses as he was. Helena was going to get herself killed if she didn’t pull it together.

“Why did this have to happen?”

Leon looked to her sharply. “You tell me— you claim this is your fault. You know more than I do.”

She looked away from him, the elevator still, thankfully, descending. Leon wished she would just be straight with him before she got _both_ of them killed. Leon still had a promise to fulfill— a better world for Chris, and now Adam. He wasn’t about to fail them for Helena. 

As they dropped lower, there was the sudden howl of wind and— something else. It was like the woeful moaning of a monster from Leon’s nightmares. Nightmares that came from very, very real things. “Something’s down here,” Helena whispered.

“Grab your gun,” Leon ordered, bringing Rot up. The elevator dinged their arrival on the basement level and the doors opened to allow—

Four infected to just fall into the enclosed space with them, jesus fucking christ. “Shit,” Leon hissed. “Don’t let them in!” He swung his leg in a high roundhouse kick, knocking two down to the ground and firing bullets into their brains. Helena seemed to finally be getting with the program, landing her own shots as well. Leon left the elevator quickly, surveying the area of any signs that this was the worst of it.

This underground parking garage looked _exactly_ like the one back at RPD, and Leon hated it. Undead milled out, one stumbling and falling and sending a car alarming blaring into the space, a death sentence. Leon strode not the open area and brought Rot up, steadily landing head shots and feeling relieved when it only took one or two to bring these things down. Unlike the T-Virus, whatever this one made less resistant corpses. Leon wouldn’t have to count bullets so neurotically if he could bring them down this reliably. He just hoped Helena had decent range scores to keep up.

Leon made for the front gate that was shut and grimaced as he looked up the entrance of the parking garage. The secondary gate just beyond was swarmed with infected all clawing at the entrance. They’d like collapse the whole thing eventually from sheer weight alone— it also didn’t bode well for the status of the city beyond for this many infected to be drawn away from more populated areas to sound. It meant those populated areas probably didn’t have a lot of humans anymore. “That’s our cue to get the hell out of here,” he said grimly, heading for an exit door that would likely bring them to a stairwell up. 

“I couldn’t agree more,” Helena gasped, running behind him, sticking close like she was scared. Leon felt distantly sorry for her but knew it couldn’t be helped.

He pushed open the exit door and was a little disappointed to see it was some sort of security room. The monitors were still functioning, showing various rooms around the university. Leon scanned them all, searching for some kind clue or way out. One of the top screens showed something that had Leon’s breath catching— two men waving desperately at the camera, one of them holding up a sign that read “HELP” in black lettering. 

Behind them, a small horde stumbled closer. Leon felt sick.

On screen, the men were snatched up and devoured in a matter of secnds. 

Leon turned away, pulling the chamber on Rot and choking out, “Let’s go.” He needed to reach those men, he couldn’t handle this shit, he couldn’t watch all of these people die and stack up his list of failures, stack up the body count. Would this shit ever end or was Leon better off falling in battle and letting the nothingness of death erase all he had seen? Would Chris be waiting for him or was he already in hell?

“Leon, it’s too late!” Helena called out after him. And she was right, Leon knew she was right, but _fuck her for even suggesting that._ He looked back at her, that anger swimming in his chest and fighting to drown out the pain. Helena approached him slowly. “There’s nothing we can do.”

Leon still didn’t know what to say. A chanced glance back to the screen showed the help sign forgotten on the ground as corpses tore into the bodies. Leon had to turn away again. He shook his head. Then he nodded. “You’re right.” He couldn’t save those men, couldn’t save anyone— not in the university. But the city… “Let’s get the hell outta here.”

They left the security room, Leon searching for another exit sign, praying he didn’t have to see something like that again. If he could get into the heart of the city, maybe he could find survivors with an exit strategy already in place, a way to get them out before he even found them. Leon and Helena headed back up into the main building, luckily entering a building that was at the edges of the campus. “He said it was some sort of fog,” he thought aloud, trying to figure out what his chances were of finding survivors outside the university campus. “If this thing spread in gas form, then anyone who breathed it in got infected.”

“That would mean everyone on campus,” Helena pointed out.

“Yeah,” Leon agreed, looking out a window. “But then why is it so quiet?” He grimaced and admitted, “I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”

“Are your bad feelings normally right?” Helena asked.

“More often than I’d like.”

The red glow of an exit sign was Leon’s new favorite thing. This campus was a maze. They moved steadily through auditoriums, though, and Leon suddenly doubted the validity of an exit sign. Whoever had laid this place out had been an idiot. Something clattered down the steps of the huge auditorium, an infected growling unhappily at the bottom of the pit. “Didn’t mean to interrupt,” Leon said dryly, aiming his sights and cleanly bringing the infected down without a hitch.

“You’re good at this,” Helena observed.

“I thought you knew who I am,” Leon said as he scanned the room for more infected and found nothing. “You shouldn’t be so surprised— I’ve been doing this for years.”

“People lose skill with age.”

Leon made a face at her. “How old do you think I am?”

She shrugged, looking away, expression oddly impish. Leon wondered just where the hell she was coming from considering she couldn’t make the shot back in the elevator and was literally surviving an apocalypse with a _stranger._. “Just follow me,” he huffed, trudging down the stairs for the double doors with another exit sign above it in the left corner of the room.

The corridor of the learning hall was dark save the glow of a drink dispenser, the harsh, artificial light burning Leon’s eyes. He went for an open window and peered down into the courtyard below, not liking how empty it was. If the whole campus had been turned and yet no one was in sight, it only could mean they’d moved on into the town itself.

“I wonder if there are any survivors at all,” Leon murmured as they moved through the lecture building, navigating rubble and making it to the stairs that brought them down. Everything felt cramped and muggy, the air itself thick with something Leon couldn’t name. He wondered how long that fog lasted and if _he_ could be infected. Wouldn’t that be a treat— twice infected. Was he lucky enough to survive a second time?

They reached the bottom and the actual exit— Leon couldn’t keep the relief from his face as he and Helene kicked open the doors, cool open air smacking them in the faces as they finally got outside. The courtyard before them looked like an abandoned carnival, once decorated for celebration, but then ransacked by tragedy, and now empty.

 _“Get to the security gate,”_ Hannigan ordered over comms, startling Leon. _“It’ll lead you off the campus.”_ Good to know she was still there. Leon wondered if she had a drone on him like she’d done in the Eastern Slav republic. He almost hoped she did. It had saved him once, it could probably save him again.

They made for the gate, weaving between the few infected that were left and the tents set up for activities and socialization. The abundance of American flags hanging from the buildings was gaudy, but Leon could remember the feverish excitement the campus had felt in anticipation for a visit from the president only a few hours ago. Adam had been one of the most respected presidents in the past few decades, boasting the highest approval rating despite backlash from the Senate and Congress. The people had liked him— the people were going to miss him.

He reached the gate, Helena just behind. Leon tried the button to the right of it, but grimaced as it glared back at him with an angry red. “Hannigan, the gate’s locked. Anything you can do?”

_“I’m on it.”_

In a few seconds, the light went from red to green, and Leon resolved to order Hannigan a bottle of her favorite spirit if he made it out of here. He pushed past the gate into the entry hall first, making sure to jump the counter and avoid the metal detector on the off chance it was actually functioning. He waved Helena through after him, squinting into the red light that gave way to utter darkness. The low growl of the undead met his ears, but then Hannigan’s voice broke through the rumble, telling them to run.

 _“Take a right up ahead!”_ she cried out urgently. _“Just go!”_

“You heard the lady,” Leon huffed, lowering Rot and knowing she was right— he couldn’t afford to waste the ammo. He didn’t know what was out there. “Helena— on me!’

“Right behind you!”

The words settled wrong, but Leon ignored it, digging his boots into the ground and shouldering open the door that stood between them and the way out. Helena was hot on his heels, the two of them running through the last hallway of this damn university and into the front courtyard. The infected turned to them, gnashing their teeth and swiping with long arms and bloody nails, Leon cursing sharply and ducking low to avoid being clawed. 

“Keep going!” Helena shouted, grabbing his leather jacket by the back to keep his momentum going, her breath laborious in her fear. Leon caught her arm and pulled her along just as quickly as she’d done him— he was faster than just about anyone he’d known. Sprinting down the small cobblestone pathway was easier than breathing for him— even better was the flash red and white he saw down at the end. 

“I think we just found our ride outta here!” Leon exclaimed with a twisted grin, unable to ignore the irony. Helena let out this ragged noise of relief that Leon could relate to as he nearly slammed into the car, yanking the driver’s door open, and feeling more than relieved to know the keys were still left in the ignition as they were supposed to be according to police training— keep the keys for the chase of a getaway. 

The undead piled atop the car, but Leon felt something like confidence as he put the car in gear. “You buckled in?” he asked, feeling the rock of the car, watching a zombie slip down the hood, slamming at the glass to no avail. Glass shattered to his left, the driver side window shattering— Leon didn’t flinch as Helena fired a clean shot through the infected’s skull, sending it staggering back and collapsing onto the ground. 

Helena looked to him, her eyes wide and afraid in a way that reminded him suddenly and alarmingly of Claire. “Yeah.”

Leon let her see his grin, let her feel the experience that made him capable of smiling so foolishly in impossible situations like this. “Then hold on.” He slammed the gas and peeled out, the infected on the hood sliding down uselessly, scrabbling at the metal, It went under the wheels with a jolt and a screech, but Leon didn’t stop. The headlights light up the tight turns and corners, Leon never letting up on the gas as he fled that university and let that anger return, letting it bubble under his skin to keep him going.

“This is insane,” Helena gasped beside him as he drove. “This is— this is _insane._ ”

“This is the way it goes,” Leon replied, hands tight on the steering wheel. “And how it always will go so long as these viruses still exist— so long as they linger in the bloodstream and continue to take everything it can from us. Dreams, homes, people. This is how it always goes, Harper.”

He looked to her, the headlights reflecting off brick walls being the only illumination in the cab of the cop car. Leon’s blue eyes had to look cold in the dim light and the chaos of the world beyond the car itself likely turned his gaze to ice. “This is why you’re going to tell me _everything,_ ” he said firmly. “Once we get to the church, you spill your guts— got it?”

Helena nodded, looking forward, her expression pale. Leon hoped it was because of his threat and not because of whatever she thought was awaiting them at the Tall Oaks Cathedral. Leon made the last turn with a wide pull of the steering wheel, and then saw something to his left, glancing over quickly to see an empty football field, the floodlights still on. His gaze lingered on the field, searching for anything that could tell him just how bad this had gotten off campus—

A face filled his vision through the passenger window. Leon’s breath caught, his thoughts halting for a split second. Then Helena shouted and Leon looked ahead to see another face in the front, peering into him with huge, soulless eyes. 

Cold fingertips grazed Leon’s throat and he reacted purely on maladapted instinct, thinking only of getting these things off of them, yanking the wheel and flipping the car.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so at this point you're gonna see a couple weird time skips between chapters-- I'm trying to evenly space it out so it lines up properly and I avoid continuity issues. sorry for the inconvenience.

The cold tugged at his fingers, biting at his skin. He trudged through the dirt, ignoring the heat and choosing to keep his heavy jacket on his shoulders. His body was sore from the hard labor he was walking away from— reconstructing a civil-war ruined town was tough work no matter how much he balked at his large reflection in the mirror. The body felt like his own after these past six months, but little else did. The face, the eyes, the name— Chris something, Chris Red? 

Chris.

Chris Redfield.

After waking up in a hospital with mold in the popcorn ceiling, all he had was that name and the ghost of a voice shouting it in his head. He had muscles that ached if he used them and ached if he didn’t. He had scars all over his body that were unfamiliar, bumps and dips and jagged lines that bragged how much they knew him and his past better than he did. There was nothing worse than sinking into skin that wasn’t comfortable or familiar. He kept seeing flashes of blue and gold and lightning, peals of laughter from a child, soulful cries of a woman, and a bright smile that made his head hurt.

Chris’s head hurt, that was.

He was Chris.

Chris.

Repeating the name didn’t help either, because there was nothing like beating a dead horse with a broken stick, so he pushed it all away with labor and alcohol. Work his body to death, drink his brain to death, and then get a little mini death in sleeping it all off and starting the cycle over. Chris hoped that whoever he had been had healthier habits before this, otherwise he was probably driving their liver into the ground. He was pretty sure the guy didn’t smoke, because the first time he’d taken a drag from a fellow construction worker, he’d nearly vomited. Hadn’t felt sick, it had only felt— wrong. The only way he could describe it. The only way he could describe half the weird shit about Chris.

It was the strangest things that triggered the weirdest reactions— all these scars would have him assume Chris was military, but the occasional burst of gunfire did nothing. If anything, gunfire, oddly enough, helped him feel better. Made his heart stop racing, soothed his pounding head, made the shakes cease. But then he would round a corner and startle a flock of birds and fall into a fucking panic attack in the shadow of the flock taking off into the sky. Chris could apparently handle the smell of cooking meat, but he couldn’t handle the a low ringing alarm. He could handle fireworks, but not lightning. 

He could handle brunettes, but not blonds— feminine versus masculine included. Which was strange, considering the one thing that he still had from his unknown past featured a blond man in a _very_ promiscuous position. An old photograph, looking nearly a decade old with himself— maybe?— and a blond man in bed together, literally fucking on a bed in some random room he didn't recognize. The blond had been in his lap, but his face had been just barely turned from the camera, so al he had to go on to hunt the man down by were the barely-there light puncture-wound scars on the man’s ribs. And on the back, a message written in red ink, reading, “You’re a fool, Chris Redfield,” and signed by an A.W.. 

It was porn— literally porn, the only thing he’d found on himself, tucked away in the back of mud-and-blood smudged BDUs that he’d burned. He still had it now, slipping into his waistband because that was where it had been before, so why would he change it now? It had apparently worked for Chris. It was weird keeping literal _porn_ on him, but he felt bad for Chris. It wasn’t like he could just toss something away that meant so much to the guy. And since he was Chris, then it would just be cruel to himself. Or something like that?

He didn’t know— he honestly didn’t know a god damn thing, and it exhausted him, so he worked himself to death and then drank the pain away. There wasn’t much else that he could do in this place. His job paid shit, barely enough for running water and the shit-hole of an apartment he called “home,” so it wasn’t like he could afford a ticket out of this place. And where would he even go? To his actual home? He had no address, only knew that every thought of him as the “Drunk American,” but from what he also knew, America was pretty big, wasn’t it? Where would he even start? Did he even actually come from America in the first place? Could they mean a different America? North and South America, that was a thing, he was pretty sure that was a thing. Jesus, just how—

Just how much was he missing? The thought scared him more than most, scared him more than the idea that no one was looking for him. Maybe he was a casualty of war. Or maybe he was a casualty of society. Maybe he was just— just a fucking casualty. A lost cause, a waste of breath. Maybe he was on the earth to work and work and work and then die. Maybe the best moment of his life had been photographed so many years ago and that was why it was the only thing left on his person— the only thing that mattered to Chris Redfield anymore.

Maybe— maybe the man in that photo was dead. And maybe Chris Redfield had wanted to be dead too, so he’d taken a swan dive off a bridge or a building, but hadn’t been good enough at anything to even get suicide right. Maybe he was better off just minding his own business and staying the path and not being a bother to anyone but the unfortunate yet lovely bartender who had to put up with his drunken surliness every night.

Seemed better than cursing whoever might be looking for him with what he was now. As much as he was sure Chris Redfield didn’t have much going for him, he was just as sure that anyone who could have known him was better off believing him dead.

He reached the bar and pulled open the door, wiping a hand down his face and walking to the bar. His limbs were stiff from his shift, but at least that new library was just a little bit closer to being salvaged and rebuilt. The bartender gave him a nasty look that he was used to by now— his tab was racking up, but he always paid it off by the end of the month. One paycheck went to rent and utilities, and the other went to his bad habits. Like he’d said— an endless cycle. Drink to work, work to drink, smoke a pack once a week and tell himself it was helping. 

Funny thing about that— one of the few things that _had_ carried over from Chris Redfield was the need to help. When Chris had first woken up, he’d really just wandered around. There had been countless signs offering jobs, but he’d ignored all of them in the beginning ending up in random homes to do chores around mangled houses in exchange for bad-smelling meat and stale bread. He’d tried working at another bar the town back, but had felt antsy and useless stand there at the door, keeping people from entering. He’d been good at the job because, well—

Look at him. He’s six feet and all muscle, his neck is as wide as his hand, Chris Redfield was _terrifying._ But it had felt empty, so he’d moved on and seen signs in mixed languages, one of them being the magical alphabet he could actually understand, and had ended up in the civilian relief effort, rebuilding. No protection equipment, bad work conditions, even worse-off equipment, but at least he felt like he was _doing_ something. At least he felt like he was earning his right to be alive.

It was another reason why the bartender never kicked him out— as much as he annoyed the shit out of her, he had earned an iota of respect for his work. That was why he could still come here. He’d even helped re-tile the roof of her mother’s house just the other week on his single day off. She’d made him cookies. He didn’t know her name. Didn’t know the bartender’s name either. Again—

He didn’t know _shit._ And whatever he learned was gone by the next day. Just another never-ending cycle. 

Three Horilkas and a pack of cigarettes later, he was feeling a little more comfortable in this tight, sore, scarred skin. There weren’t many people in the bar, save a few jocks in the back that brought the word “jarhead” to mind, a word he was pretty sure he’d never heard of before. They’d been in here for the past hour or so, one of them sitting right across from him at the bar eating a steal— young guy with an unfortunate resting bitch face and a shockingly green eyes with dirty blond hair. He was dressed—

A lot like how he’d woken up, actually. Heavy clothes, dog tags around his neck. Military. Was he military? He was pretty sure this guy was military.

It didn’t matter. He was three drinks in and waving for a fourth as the bartender turned her nose up at him, but did as he requested. She knew he’d stumble down the road after forgetting her name blatantly to her face. It was easier to make her think he was an asshole than explain that the only reason he knew where he lived was because he had it written down on his inner wrist for reference. Redoing the ink every few days with markers from work was the only reason he wasn’t sleeping on the streets.

God, he was a miserable sack of shit, wasn’t he?

“Hard to find a good steak around here.”

He blinked at the wooden bar top as the voice floated past his wild thoughts and settled in his noisy head. He blinked, one, twice, furrowed his brow as he tried go actually register that someone was talking to him in English without the accent he’d heard his entire short life, an accent he only heard from himself. American? Had to be, though he had little to go on. Still—

“Not like back home.”

The word triggered something inside of him that had him looking up at the young man across the bar. The mans tased into him, gaze piercing, so he had to look away. Something about that face was making Chris uncomfortable, and he was well accustom to moving away from things that made Chris uncomfortable.

The bartender walked up to him and filled his glass only halfway. He looked at it and scowled, glaring up at the woman and insisting, “Fill her up.”

“You’ve had enough,” she replied, sounding more tired than anything else. The way she looked at him was gentle— like she cared. 

_As if anyone fucking cared._

Ever since he’d woken up, all he’d been given were judgmental cuts of the eyes and disdained expressions, people looking down on him before he even opened his mouth. A sorry sack of shit halfway to the grave and working harder to get there faster— people here only ever hated him or _pitied_ him, and it pissed him off. It pissed _Chris_ off. And the quiet concern in this woman’s eyes reminded him far too much of a memory he could only scratch at, blue eyes that watched him with empathy, soft hands touching his scarred skin, a burst of laughter from chapped lips flecked with blood—

He broke from the memory with a tremble and reached for the bottle the bartender was holding away from him. “Look, sweetheart,” he said, trying to keep his voice from shaking by talking like a condescending asshole. “You’re here to pour drinks and look pretty, so how about you shut your mouth?”

The words came without permission, which he was used to. By telling Chris to shut up, another man took the reins. A giant fucking asshole of a man. He didn’t look at the woman as he filled up the rest of his glass and told himself that he’d probably crossed a hell of a line, even for him—

The glass was suddenly snatched from in front of him, cold alcohol slapping his face as the bartender threw his drink in his face. 

“How about you get the hell out of my bar,” she demanded. 

Yeah, he deserved that.

He took the bottle and pulled it off the counter and slid out of the barstool, heading for the door. “Nowhere to go,” he murmured, unable to keep the defeat from his voice there. Every other bar in this place had too much light and reminded him of something he couldn’t remember— why the hell would he torture himself along with poisoning his liver? As he went for the door, a thug of a man stood in front of him and bit out something in the language everyone spoke here— the language he didn’t know. It was frustrating— especially because all attempts to learn the language was erased from his memory within hours— and infuriating, so he shouldered past the man and—

There was English in his ears, but the hand clamping onto his shoulder from behind lit up synapses in his brain he so rarely experienced. Before he knew what was happening, he had the man by the back of the neck, slamming him onto the wooden table to their respective right, the bottle raised and ready to smash down into the skull of the bouncer. He would have likely killed the man if a hand hadn’t suddenly cinched around his wrist, holding him tight. He looked up, breathing heavily, into the eyes of that same young man who’d been eating the steak and talking about home.

The young man shook his head— he was just as disgusted as everyone else. “Never thought I’d find Chris Redfield wasting away in a shit-hole like this.”

The name he was supposed to have had him yanking himself away, staggering back against the table. “Who the hell are you?” he demanded, inwardly terrified. So someone had been looking for him, and his fears had come true. He was nothing but a letdown to those who’d known him. He slumped into the seat at the table and watched the bouncer leave them alone as the young man slipped into the seat across from him.

“Piers,” the man replied, which was a shitty name. What kind of parent named their kid after an inanimate object? “Piers Nivans?”

The man repeated himself like he thought he should be able to recognize the name. Maybe Chris Redfield knew the name, but not him. He shook his head, turning away. The lights of the bar were starting to hurt his eyes. “Never heard o’ya.”

The young man suddenly reached into his back pocket, pulling out a fight. Jesus, the blue light of tech hurt his eyes more than anything else, what the fuck. “How about this,” the man offered, swiping the screen and then showing him something— a picture. “You heard of this?”

It was a skyline of a city swathed in flames— probably something like the end of the world. It wasn’t familiar. “What is that?” The screen changed, switching to another photo, more destruction and more fire.

“You really don’t remember anything, do you?” Of course he fucking didn’t, who in their right mind would be six feet, pure muscle, and yet drinking himself to death in a country where he didn’t speak the language? “Bioterrorism.” Scary word— not ringing a bell, not—

He flinched as he saw a man in combat gear twist in his mind’s eye, then nothing. “Bio…” A piercing agony suddenly struck his head, and he curled inwards, clutching at his skull. He saw metal bars and a man staggering, a young voice screaming for his captain, and hand reaching for him as he failed—

He lifted his head, breath shuddering as the memory dropped away as quickly as it had come. His head pounded and his vision swam. Was he remembering something? 

“You can’t hide from your past, Chris, no matter where you go or what you do.”

Who was hiding? Why the fuck would he hide? It hurt, oh fuck, his head hurt so much. He couldn’t breathe right, gasping air into his lungs as he clutched at the back of his head again, awful pain making the muscles in his body seize. Even his heart rate trembled to the pain, something like dying or being as good as dead. The words of the young man hurt— why would he hide? What had he done that was something to hide from? Had he killed someone? Had he caused those fires?

“Who are you?” he asked, the words coming out tight and scared, scared in a way that made him feel ashamed. Or was Chris ashamed? “What is this?!” What was he remembering and why did it hurt? Oh god, had he really killed someone? Was he a monster? Were these men here to take him in, take him to trial for a heinous crime? Was Chris Redfield a bad person?

Oddly, and contrary to how he’d been acting only seconds before, the man sat back. “Okay,” he said. “You don’t remember me?” he asked as he tapped at his phone. Why was he talking to Chris like everything was a challenge? Why was he so angry at Chris? What had he _done?_ “Well how about them?”

Another picture was shown to Chris— four men, four names, all of them bearing the word deceased on their pictures. Andy Walker, Carl Alfonso, Ben Airhart, Finn Macauley, all dead as of December 24th, 2012. 

Oh god— that was a few days before he’d woken up. Had he killed these men?

“Look,” the young man snarled. He _was_ looking, he was looking into the faces of men who were dead and gone, probably by his hands. He shook his head, hands under the table to hide how they were shaking, brow knit with the pain throbbing in his skull. The screen hurt his eyes, and he had to look away, but the young man was suddenly standing, shoving the screen into his face and shouting as he slammed the table. 

“I said look!” Chris flinched at the hatred he heard in the man’s voice. “Those were your men! Men who died under your command!” Chris had to look away again, feeling like he was going to vomit from the pain in the back of his head. It was like a pickax being driven into the bone, dizzying and agonizing. “You owe it to them to remember, Chris.” Remember what? Remember them dying? What good would that do if he hadn’t been good enough to save them then? What could he possibly do now that would fix this? “If you walk away now then this was all for nothing!”

_Blue eyes staring into him, begging him, pleading to know why Chris had abandoned him so heartlessly—_

“Enough!” Chris gasped, slapping the phone away, that last memory making his every organ clench and revolt inside a body that felt life threateningly fatal. He bent forward, clutching at his head, struggling to draw in breath now that everything was crashing into rubble. He could see men in his mind, soldiers that smiled at him and called him their captain, their bodies twisting and mutating with a woman standing behind them bearing a sinister smile.

The young man— Piers, right? Piers— sat back down, sneering at him. “Dammit— six months of searching for you and this is what I find!” Piers knocked over a bottle with his words, and Chris tried to keep from jumping.

A fucking disappointment, Chris already knew that about himself. This whole town would be happy if he died. God, he felt _sick._ He was scared. Was he actually going to die if he remembered? Considering the way his chest was cinching itself shut, it sure seemed like he would die.

As Piers looked away from Chris— disgust written plainly across his face— Chris looked to the clothes again, the only thing familiar. He saw a patch he’d missed before, a patch of a globe with the letters BSAA emblazoned across the top. And for some reason—

“BSAA,” he said softly, the tremors and the hitched breaths calming. Why did those letters—

“Yeah,” Piers said as he looked to Chris, leaning across the table. “It’s where you belong.”

He belonged somewhere?

“Everyone’s waiting,” Piers said, which Chris wasn’t sure believed.

“Everyone?” he repeated. Who was everyone? He actually had a home? A family that looked for him? Maybe even wouldn’t hate him as much as this young man? Did Chris mean something to someone?

Piers put his hand in Chris’s line of sight atop the table. “Everyone,” he whispered before some unspoken cue was given, as every man who had filled this bar stood and walked to the table. Ordinary men, men who looked just like all the others who had once filled this bar. They walked towards Chris was determined expressions, bearing the faces of soldiers that had his heart twisting. Something was wrong about this, but he couldn’t name what it was— all he could do was look upon these faces that were watching him with something like respect and wonder if he had killed anyone they’d been friends with.

“We’re taking you back, Captain,” Piers said. That— that wasn’t right. Chris would only get them killed. “One way or another.”

That sounded like a threat.

Chris didn’t know what to say, but he knew he didn’t have a choice. One way or another, right? Chris guessed he was going to finally get some answers no matter how much the truth hurt.

. . .

He couldn’t keep running away.

He had to face the truth— accept responsibility.

It was the only way he would ever remember.

The only way he’d get his life back.

That was what Chris told himself as the chopper flew above Waiyip, China on June 30th. Comms droned through the speaker in his ear, an uncomfortable object that didn’t fit right and muffled the world to his left. It felt like a hinderance more than anything, but Piers had promised him he’d get used to it.

_“HQ to Alpha Team— no change to your mission. Suppress the bio terror outbreak while proceeding to point Ace of Spades.”_

Chris looked down at the burning city beneath them and felt dizzy from the waves of heat that blew up into his face. There was fire everywhere, explosions peppering the ground like this was somehow normal. More helicopters circled the area, but Chris had a feeling no one had much hope for their ability to do anything but try and keep this from getting any worse. Chris didn’t remember a god damn thing except for how genuinely useless it felt to be up above an overrun city. Looking down, he kept getting flashes of another area, another skyline— a city floating atop the ocean, succumbing to monsters just as this one had. Terra-something. An awful remnant of a memory.

“Roger that,” Piers said into comms beside him, right where he’d been the whole time since picking Chris up from Edonia. “Preparing to drop on the Eight of Clubs. We’ll make out way to the Ace of Spades and find those UN workers.”

Chris looked down at the rooftops and saw a soldier standing amongst debris, holding up twin green flares. Some ropes dropped from the chopper and Chris stood, the rest of the men on his team doing the same with him and sliding down the ropes. Chris followed them down, grunting as his boots hit the roof.

It was weird— he could do things he knew most civilians couldn’t out of muscle memory. Piers had explained he’d been in the fight against bioterrorism since 1998. Chris wasn’t sure that was entirely accurate since he was positive no one could live that long through these kinds of operations. If he really had survived this long, then Chris was sure he was either the unluckiest man in the world or a monster in his own way.

Still— it helped to know why Chris felt so relaxed with a gun in his hand.

Piers went first, leading Chris and the other men down the rooftops to the streets below. For all the chaos Chris had seen above, it was alarmingly quiet right now. He was bracing himself for his first sighting of the infected, or as Piers had called them, BOWs. He wasn’t excited for that in any way.

_“Echo to HQ! We’ve encountered hostiles at Diamond Three! Moving in to engage!’_

_“HQ, copy.”_

Death was disturbingly organized in the BSAA.

They reached a door at the bottom level, Piers waiting back for Chris to give the signal. That was another thing Chris wasn’t used to— being in charge. And for another thing, he wasn’t used to _so many people_ being with him. His shit memory was just glimpses of the past and voices and faces, and yet everything was implying that he was a two-person-mission kind of guy. He could only ever remember a few operations that had one person with him, flitting between men and women, but still only one. Having a whole team didn’t seem like something Chris Redfield normally did.

Piers had insisted, though, despite Chris knowing he’d killed their entire team in the past. Chris thought it was a bad idea.

“On your mark, Captain,” Piers said. God, that was weird as hell too. Chris grimaced at Piers, then stood behind one of the soldiers, giving himself a moment of pause before slapping the man’s shoulder, signaling them to kick the door in. The metal flung outwards to reveal—

A reporter?

“The BSAA has arrived on the scene!” the reporter declared into a handheld microphone as the bright light of a video camera shone in Chris’s face. “Excuse me, can I get a comment, please?” Chris strode forward, brushing past the reporters, shoving the camera back with a wide hand on the lens. “Excuse me!” Fucking idiots. “Is this outbreak related to the situation back in the States? Is the BSAA involved there as well?”

What? Something was happening in the states? Chris didn’t know why, but that bit of information sent off warning bells in his mind, saying he needed to be trying to reach someone. Started with an L, right? Leroy?

The ground shuddered beneath his feet, drawing Chris’s attention back to the streets. The tall buildings were wavering with the destruction, civilians scrambling about in terror and sirens blaring, making Chris flinch. He sighed at the pandemonium and somehow sighed, like this was a normal occurrence for him. “Look at this…” The street was on fire, with civilians collapsing and stumbling about in a panic. Their vehicles ended up completely blocked from advancing, barricades keeping them from getting any further into the city. Ahead, men filed out of vehicles, looking back to them for some sort of direction.

Piers beside him returned a grimace and nodded, shouting, “All civilians! Clear out of the way!” Chris wasn’t sure they were speaking the right language, unfortunately, because no one paid attention. As the team moved up with some rallied vehicles, another voice went over comms. “Come in, HQ! Route four is a mix of civvies and hostiles! Got anything else?” 

The vehicles at the barricades were suddenly blown into the air by a rush of shrapnel and flame, an explosion rattling Chris’s bone. “Son of a—” He ran for the site and skidded to a halt when he saw soldiers dead on the ground, crushed beneath vehicles or filled with debris, blood leaking from the corpses. There in an instance but gone in a flash. If this was what Chris Redfield saw every day, then Chris didn’t blame the guy for wanting to run. As Chris backed away from the display of cruel death, hands grabbed at his legs, a civilian clinging to him and begging him in yet another language Chris didn’t understand. Piers cursed and pulled the civilian off as HQ came through. 

_“Alpha team— switch course from route four to route niner. Head to the destination through the building in Six of Clubs.”_

Chris had no one idea what these stupid code names meant. Luckily, Piers did. The young man ducked away and headed for a door to their left, kicking it inwards with another soldier’s help.

_“HQ to all teams— Alpha is en route to Ace of Spades. After they rendezvous with Delta, we will proceed with the operation as planned.”_

Moving through the building proved just how bad the situation really was. The place was like a slaughterhouse only a level up with everything in disarray, furniture and trash scattered across the floor, windows giving way and shattering as more tremors rattled the building. Comms told stories of teams being swamped with infected and needing help, backup being sent with Chris having the sinking feeling that backup wouldn’t get there in time. He remembered so little, but his instincts and gut feelings filled the gaps. He had a feeling they weren’t as much help as Piers had made them out to be.

As he rounded a corner and faced a sheer drop off down to a lower level, Chris watched someone lodge a volley of bullets into the cowering figure of a normal person. The shooter ran off as Chris jumped down. Horrifically enough, Chris didn’t feel all that much as he jogged towards the body of the victim. “If they’re killing unarmed civilians, they’re gonna love us,” he told Piers as the moved past the body. Piers gave him a grim glance and led him through the lower level of the streets, the walls cramped. Chris wasn’t sure what the man expected of him— it wasn’t like he was actually _Chris_ right now.

Piers slammed through a door and made a clean shot into the head of someone Chris hoped was infected. As he followed Piers into the open streets, Chris looked to the collapsed body and saw—

Oh, what the fuck. “It’s healing itself!” he exclaimed in shock as he watched the head that had been shot to bits slowly reform with blood and much. He was pretty sure he’d _never_ seen anything like that before as Chris brought up his gun and squeezed the trigger, feeling the shakes calm as the gun rattled in his hand.

“Piers to HQ,” Piers exclaimed off to the side as he watched Chris handle the infected. What was strange was that Piers sounded almost— scared. “We’ve made contact with J’avo! It’s the same kind we dealt with back in Edonia!”

_“Copy that— proceed with extreme caution.”_

As Chris brought the infected to the ground, turning it into Swiss cheese with extreme prejudice, he looked up at Piers with a confused expression. “That’s all we get?” he asked incredulously. “Proceed with caution? Nothing else?”

Piers shrugged a little helplessly as he looked over the corpse to make sure it was dead. It dissolved at Chris’s feet like something out of a science fiction story. “It’s not up to us whether they do enough or not, Sir.”

“Don’t call me that,” Chris ordered stiffly. For some reason, he hated being called “Sir.” He moved down the burning streets, following the rest of the men. A helicopter hovered above, blinding Chris temporarily with the searchlight attached to the bottom. They reached a wall of cars all collided together in the streets, keeping them from moving forward safely. Chris watched the men get down on their knees and time their sights down at the vehicles, so he did the same, wondering what they were—

Just as the spotlight swung over the cars, it illuminated a man in a brightly painted mask that stood with a rocket launcher balanced over his shoulder. The rocket burst into smoke and shot for the helicopter, bringing it down with thundering light and noise. “Oh shit!” Chris gasped as the chopper swung out of control and crashed into the building in front of them, the engine dying with a screech. Chris took cover behind a car as his brain struggled to decipher whether the men in the chopper had lived or died and if he could do anything to help them. Another split second, and then Chris was rolling out from behind the car, intending to run for the downed chopper and save whoever he could.

A hand on his wrist stopped him. “Captain, stay back!” Piers shouted, eyes wild. “Jesus, what the hell do you think you’re doing?!”

“They could still be alive!”

Understanding washed over Piers’s face before fading into anger. “They signed up for this,” he told Chris coldly. “They knew what was going to happen. It’s our job to see this mission through so we can ensure they didn’t die in vain!”

Chris couldn’t do that— it was just too cruel.

There was the sound of screeching metal and then the ground shaking _again._ Chris was already sick of the feeling. He looked back in time to see the helicopter collapsing from the side of the building, crashing into the ground below. Chances of survival for those inside was literally zero right now, and yet he still needed to look. He remembered a chopper, two, actually, one in the rain of a dark island, one in the overpowering brightness of a slum, both of which—

_“Alpha team. Proceed along route niner. Take a back alley to get to the Ace of Spades.”_

God, did anyone even care at all?

Piers ran for the back alley first, the rest of the team following, Chris doing the same. As they moved, Chris checked over his rifle, not knowing the name of the gun in his hands but knowing the parts and reloading with ease. Piers glanced back at him and shook his head. “You know, I figured you’d be a little rusty, but it looks like all that training’s kicking right in.” He had a point— Chris was doing this with his hands he’d never be able to explain to someone aloud. It was sheer muscle memory getting him through this. Felt like even his body wasn’t his own now.

“Can the chatter,” he ordered as he moved past the team, unable to stomach what Piers was saying and what it meant for who Chris was. And as far as Chris knew, he and Piers weren’t friends— he hoped. It would be awful if Piers treated his friends the way he’d shouted at Chris back in the bar. He moved down the alley and reached yet another doorway, finding the redundancy of all of these doors annoying. He stopped at it and looked back at Piers. “You ready?”

Piers nodded, expression unreadable as they kicked the door in in unison.

There were people inside, people that Chris shot without hesitation because he was pretty sure that was his job. A few shots and they were dead on the ground. “All clear.”

_“Echo to HQ! We can’t hold them off! Retreating from Diamond Three!”_

_“HQ to Echo! Requesting immediate status update! What’s going on?”_

_“We’re overwhelmed! There’s just too many of them! We’ve got no choice, we have to fall back!”_

Jesus— it was only getting worse out there.

They moved from one building to the next, breaking through door after door to the point where it lost meaning, so when Chris kicked in another door and saw an infected holding a soldier, he froze. One of theirs—

Piers made a shot, bringing the infected down, and then moved on. Chris was left standing there in some sort of pause, watching the soldier crawl away and try to recover. Part of him said to reach out and help, but the other part was stuck frozen. And when the infected got up again—

Chris watched in horror as something burst from the skin at the shoulder, an arm longer than a man made of sinew and muscle and disease slapping across the ground. He still couldn’t move as the infected turned to him, marching forward. That ugly arm lifted itself into the air, casting a long shadow across Chris’s face. He saw the flash of blue eyes as the arm was swung—

_“Captain!”_

— and Piers slammed into him, knocking him out of the way with his entire body, the crawling soldier crying out as every bone was broken by the swing of the mutated arm. Chris groaned as he tried to lift himself from the floor, his head pounding relentlessly as bullets flew overhead. He looked to his left—

To the body of the soldier he’d gotten killed.

A face flashed in his vision, young, wearing a beanie, reaching for him. Chris was shaking again. A hand clapped on his shoulder, Piers drawing him back suddenly, pulling him to his feet as the infected gargled on its own blood and lifted the humungous arm that was too big for its body. Voices filled Chris’s awareness, the men of the team shouting and trying to communicate as a ringing in Chris’s ears kept him from being part of it, allowing him only to shoot and bring this thing down. 

He kept a safe distance, rolling across the blood tile of the floor as the infected swung at him, clumsy and bumbling about. For something that looked like hell on earth, it wasn’t much of a threat so long as Chris paid attention. He told himself that as he laid in an entire clip before the thing finally collapsed to the ground, succumbing to the singular effort of an entire team of men. Jesus— did they have the ammo for this?

The mutated infected dissolved into the ground just like all the others.

“You two— stay here and tend to the wounded.”

It took Chris a second to realize the voice giving orders was his own.

The men did as told, which was only a little surprising, Chris moving up as Piers filled in HQ. He thought of the soldier he’d just killed as enemies made themselves known down their route, Chris realizing he was going to lose this team if he wasn’t careful. “I don’t want anyone charging in!” he ordered over comms. “Just hunker down and pick a target!” Piers hated him for the men he’d lost— Chris was going to ensure he didn’t lose another.

As they moved through countless more buildings, heading towards a goal Chris couldn’t remember, the rattle of his gun became the only thing that made sense. Blood sprayed and more infected mutated into senseless monsters, but he just had to line his sights up and bring them down to feel like himself. It was alarming how Chris Redfield fed on war to feel at peace. It was horrifying to know this was what Chris Redfield called home.

 _“HQ to Alpha,”_ came a grim voice in his ear. _“We’ve lost contact with the recon unit. Proceed with extreme caution.”_

That was really all they ever gave them, huh?

“I don’t like the sound of that, Sir.”

“Don’t call me ‘sir,’” Chris insisted sharply, glaring back at Piers. He kicked in the next door ahead of them, wondering if Piers really just never fucked listened.

Piers rolled his eyes. “Jesus, Captain, fine.”

For the love of— “It’s Chris— got it?”

Piers bristled. Then he nodded. Good. 

Ten bucks Piers still called him anything but his name.

They broke through to a rooftop, the fresh air doing little good. Piers grabbed his shoulder and pointed ahead to a large building over twenty stories tall with neon lights across the top. “HQ to Alpha team,” came the comms unit. “That tenement building up ahead is the Ace of Spades. The UN staff that have been taken hostage are inside. Proceed with extraction.”

So that was why they were here.

The rooftops were easier to navigate than the streets below, strangely enough. Hop from roof to roof, jump insane gaps in the structures, take down infected and then on to the next until they reached a point that gave him pause. A split between the two closest buildings far too wide for any man to leap with only a bamboo shaft between the rooftops. Piers waved for him to go first, but Chris had a gut feeling that this wasn’t a good idea. Then Piers pulled at his shoulder, and Chris was given no choice but to submit. He glanced at Piers, unable to read the young man, and grabbed the bamboo pole, sliding down it to the next—

A rocket whizzed by and Chris shut his eyes, bracing for it. 

The bamboo snapped under his hands and he fell, snagging the edge a manmade thatch landing just barely, thinking he’d made it until he heard a shout of fear behind him. Chris reached back on instinct, grabbing Piers’s hand at the last second to keep the man from crashing five stories below and shattering to pieces on the concrete. For a split second, Chris met Piers’s eyes and saw surprise in them— Then another shockwave rattled them and Chris’s grip is knocked away, both him and Piers dropping again with Piers shouting his name, terrified. Piers landed on a deck, but Chris dropped past him, barely catching himself on a metal pipe and saving himself from certain death. He swung countless feet above the ground and tried not to imagine his guts splattering across the streets below if he loses his grip again.

“I guess the muscle memory saved me there,” he gasped to himself before putting one arm in front of the other, pulling himself under the bar like it was a gymnasium. As he moved at a snail’s pace, the heat of the fires surrounding making him sweat and feel like he weighed a fucking ton, glass crashed to his left. Chris looked wearily to the building beside his hanging body and saw the infected shattering the windows, climbing onto the slanted rooftop for him. “Hey Piers,” he said almost nervously into comms as the infected opened fire, Chris being forced to wiggle a little too wildly down the pipe than he wanted to try and keep from getting shot. “I’m taking a little fire here! I saved your ass— wanna return the favor?”

There was no answer— for a second, Chris wondered if he’d been outright abandoned. Then there was a single, loud shot, and an infected teetered over, dropping to the streets with a hole in his head the size of a fist. Only seconds passed before another infected was dropped, then a third, then a fourth. Chris was distantly impressed by how good of a shot Piers was. Chris let out a shaky laugh of relief as he pulled himself closer to the scaffolding this pipe led him to. The relief died quickly as he saw infected round staircases inside the building that was his saving grace, his only spot of safety being occupied by hostiles.

“Shit fucking dammit,” he whispered to himself, frazzled as he tried to think of his options. Could Piers make a shot like this without hitting him? Bullets whizzed past Chris, hotter than the flames, one of them nicking his bulletproof vest and having him flinch. His hands were sweaty in his gloves and his arms were shaking from how long he’d been hanging. The infected jeered as they waited for him to drop into their waiting teeth. He considered how hard he could swing his leg out when the infected were suddenly dropped just like the others. 

Holy shit, Leon was a good shot.

“Thanks,” he said into comms, dropping onto the scaffolding and heading for a ladder. “I’m gonna need a hand here. Make your way back to me ASAP.”

“We’ll radio HQ for backup,” one of the soldiers on his team that he couldn’t name said. “You to proceed to the Ace of Spades.”

So it was just Chris and Piers now— Chris hoped they would survive on their own.

He reached the top and navigated his way through the roof, shocked to find more houses stacked atop the roof like the building had grown a tumor. The concept of overpopulation to this extent was staggering and didn’t bode well for their chances. This many people stacked up meant that many more fell to infection.

Fighting through the infected, Chris found Piers waiting for him at the end of the maze of houses and fences, glancing at the sniper and pausing when something seemed off. Piers gave him a tight nod and shouldered open a door that led them away from this crazy building. Chris watched his back, unable to keep from frowning— his build was too wide. Had he put on additional protective gear?

“We’re almost there, Captain,” Piers told him, leading Chris across more rickety scaffolding that was slowly becoming swathed in flames. “Bravo was supposed to cover us, but— well, it looks like things have gone from bad to worse for more than just us.” Piers glanced back at him and gave him a wry smile. “Guess it’s just the two of us, then.”

“Then we get this over with the best we can,” Chris replied stiffly. He took the lead, bringing Piers down onto solid concrete roofing, wondering just how many people relied on these higher places to navigate rather than risk the streets below. He looked up at the tall building in front of them, towering high above all the others, a neon sign glaring down at him. “Chris to HQ— we’re at the Ace of Spades.”

_“Copy that. Bravo Team as been dispatched to assist with search and rescue.” Like there was anyone to rescue. “Standby for instructions.”_

“Good,” Piers huffed from beside him, leaning against the concrete edge of the roof, letting his rifle rest at his side. It was a powerful thing, longer than Piers’s legs. Chris didn’t recognize it and he couldn’t name it, but he knew that if he had to, he could fire that thing and reload and keeping going if needed. Having long range was crucial for the success of a mission despite close quarters and Piers was a good enough shot to be an asset, but if he was gone, Chris would be able to move on just fine on his own.

The thought sent a horrible pain through Chris’s thoughts. He wasn’t supposed to think like that and he knew it. Chris quickly looked away from Piers, feeling shame for having even considered such a thing. Piers was going to make it through this just as Chris was going to. There was no scenario here that brought Chris out alone and that was how it should be. 

Right?

“You doing okay?”

Chris looked to his partner and grimaced at the gaze directed his way. Piers was a sniper, but his eyes were more than just sharp on the battlefield. They bore right through him, seeing into the depths of his thoughts that even Chris wasn’t able to see. He looked away again and shrugged. “Well enough.”

“You getting anything back?”

Not a god damn thing. “Does it matter?” he asked gruffly to avoid the question. “I’m here, aren’t I? I’m doing my job.”

Piers shrugged, adjusting his stance to put more of his weight on the half wall behind him. Chris would almost think the young man was relaxing if he didn’t also see the way Piers was gripping the rifle so tightly. “You never really did see this as a job, you know,” he told Chris almost conversationally, like he wasn’t well aware that he knew Chris far better than Chris knew himself. “You saw the BSAA as your calling— your reason to live. It was probably a little more complicated than that, but it was what made you so good. Every man and woman under the globe wanted to follow you into battle because there’s nothing more intoxicating than a man who’s fighting for true moral good.”

“Sounds more like a risk than anything,” Chris huffed. “What if I turned on you or that precious globe? What if I wasn’t the man you all thought me to be? What if I led you astray?”

Piers gave him a wry smile. “Complicated social life aside, you’re not a complicated guy, Chris. When you believe in something, you _believe._ And…” He paused, shaking his head, grinning. “And honestly? You’re a terrible liar.”

Chris had a feeling he was right and it almost pissed him off if it didn’t also comfort him to know some of his own suspicions about Chris Redfield were right. “If I don’t get it all back,” he began carefully. “Will you still follow Chris Redfield?”

Piers frowned. “… Will you stay in the BSAA?”

“How should I know that?” The literal porn in his back pocket had him itching to search the world for a face he couldn’t even see, one man only identifiable by the scars on his ribs— like a twisted Cinderella. “I don’t even know who I am. I don’t know anything but what you’ve told me.” And what little trauma he had seen in a flashback of a dream, a young soldier screaming for help with a woman smiling like the devil herself behind him. Chris looked away from Piers to the burning city beyond them. “I have no idea who I’ll be by the end of this.”

There was a sigh from his left, then the quiet clink of the delicate pieces of a gun moving. “I don’t know who you’ll be either,” Piers admitted after a moment. “But you’ll still be Chris, in a way. So… Yeah.”

When he didn’t elaborate further, Chris glanced to him. “Yeah what?”

“Yeah, I’ll follow you,” Piers replied, stunning Chris for a second. “You’ve done more for me these past three years than anyone ever has in my entire life. You saved my ass even though you don’t know who I am. The second I showed up in that bar and gave you purpose, you followed me because that’s who you are, intrinsically. So yes, Chris— I’ll follow you even if you leave the globe.”

Chris stared at Piers, unsure of what he was seeing and what it meant. Part of him was winding tight, some invisible memory overwhelmed by what Piers was saying to him now. But another memory was strong, still unknown, still hidden, yet so much more. A memory saying Piers wasn’t the right person. 

So he looked away again, trying to keep frustration from building as he stared into that young face and knew it wasn’t who Chris Redfield wanted to see. “I guess we’ll just have to wait and find out,” he said, words clipped. “I have something I need to do.”

“What’s that, Captain?”

 _“HQ to Alpha.”_ The comms interrupting them had Chris sagging with relief. _“Bravo Team incoming— look alive down there.”_

A floodlight bathed them in white, and Chris looked up to see a helicopter swing into view, ropes dropping for boots to hit the roof in front of them. Bravo Team hit the ground smoothly, jogging for Chris, faces hidden by gear and helmets, impersonal and startling. Chris suddenly felt naked in his short sleeve shirt and bared expression. 

“Nice of y’all to join us,” Piers said, grinning at his fellow soldiers. 

_“Alpha Team, help Bravo team get the civvies out of there.”_

They had their orders. Chris headed for the metal doors that led into the building, ready to get this over with. It was a little more comfortable having a team with them again, but he couldn’t shake the wrongness of Piers’s words. Someone else was supposed to be declaring such loyalty— _someone else was supposed to be with him._ Chris didn’t know who or why, he just knew it was all wrong.

“Let’s move out,” he ordered as he carefully shouldered the doors open, eyes up and sights down the line of the room that was revealed to them. 

_“HQ to Alpha— we have your mission brief.”_ About time. _“Rescue the hostages on the first and seventh floors, then get out of the building. As soon as all teams are clear, we will commence bombing.”_

“Bombing?” Chris repeated in dull shock as Bravo Team moved past him and into the first level, fanning out to begin the search. Piers stopped at his side, giving him a questioning look as Chris faltered. “They’re gonna bomb this place?”

“The city is overrun, Sir.”

“Don’t call me Sir,” Chris ordered for what felt like the millionth time.. “What about anyone that’s left?” He didn’t know if there was anyone left to be certain, but he was pretty sure there could very well be soldiers left alive. He remembered something distant, too, an instance of survivors being around against all odds. Just cause he didn’t think anyone could be alive didn’t mean they weren’t. And bombing— “They can’t just blow up things when it goes sour. Haven’t they done that before only to fail?” How else would viruses still be around?

Piers hesitated. “… Not sure if you remember, captain, but you’ve been to a couple places that got blown to hell, and you always told me you agreed with the choice. Better to cut and run than risk things spreading further.”

Was Chris Redfield really like that? He hoped not. He couldn’t imagine being so disenchanted by the world that he thought it was a viable option to blown a place up without being certain of the absence of any and all survivors. Didn’t the people of this city deserve the chance to live just as much as the civilians Chris was being sent to rescue?

“We gotta move, Sir.”

Despite how gently Piers said this, Chris scowled at him. “How many times do I have to tell you?” he demanded harshly. “ _Don’t call me sir._ ”

Piers clammed up and Chris brushed past him, inexplicably pissed that Piers didn’t have blue eyes. He followed Bravo Team, choosing to ignore Piers for the moment just to get his head on straight. This first level was like some sort of indoor market or a food court and the infected that burst into the fray were quickly decimated by the efficiency of the team. Guerrilla warfare seemed to work better in the wild, out in the streets or in the jungle. In a building, though, the tactic of making an impenetrable shield of bullets seemed to mow through the infected like they were blades of grass against an actual blade.

“This whole place is swarming with infected,” a Bravo soldier told Chris grimly as they moved through slowly and calmly. “You think these civvies are even alive?”

Two sides of Chris spat viciously at one another, one screaming that the civilians could be alive and the other shouting for him to face the facts. This place was overrun and the doors were weak— there just wasn’t any way they’d find their people in a situation like this. But Chris didn’t really know who Chris Redfield was yet, so he just gave the soldier a grim look and moved on.

_“HQ to Alpha— the hostages are just up in front of you!”_

It was a red door— sheet metal and rusted at the edges, lit by a flickering light. There was a sound from behind the door, a strained human voice and the odd skittering of what could be claws or talons on the floor. Chris and the Bravo soldier pressed up against either side of the door, gave each other a sharp nod, and then burst through the door in unison, sights up.

Jesus—

There was a man, a civilian, his suit clean and pressed and tight to the body as the he was thrashing upside down in the grip of what could only be described as a man-insect hybrid. The stench of the infected hit Chris first— the bloodcurdling screams of a human was next. Another person— a woman, dressed in formal black as well, held in the clutches of these things. Chris was too stunned to move for a moment as the infected dropped onto the floor, crawling away with the legs of a centipede along their backs, clutching the humans to their bodies like human shields. Chris gaped as the infected skittered away with the hostages, wondering what kind of nightmare he had fallen into it.

“Chris!”

Piers’s shout brought him back, Chris yanking up his ACR, firing at the countless legs that stabbed at the ground, the infected moving with the speed of panicked insect. Chris followed it, darting into the room he’d just left, firing through the doorway and grinning sharply as the infected carrying the woman stumbled over pincer legs that were snapped in half by bullets, the hostage rolling off and away. Behind him, a high capacity round slammed into the skull that was now unguarded by the hostage, the infected dying with a screech. Chris darted past, ready to go for the next, feeling the adrenaline of the hunt like poison—

“Chris, the hostage!”

Chris skidded to a halt, his boots nearly slipping on the carpet beneath. He turned back and saw the woman being lifted into the arms of a solider on Bravo team, realizing he wasn’t here just to kill. He tried to ignore the disappointment he felt as he was brought back to the mission, chiming into comms. “Alpha to HQ— seventh floor hostage secured.”

As Bravo took the hostage away, Piers ran past him, giving him a look that Chris couldn’t decipher. Was he angry at Chris for forgetting the mission or was he disturbed by Chris enjoying the fight? Chris tried to tell himself it didn’t matter what Piers thought of him since his eyes were the wrong color and the way Piers had shouted at him in the bar, but the attempt to placate himself fell flat, leaving only shame. He didn’t know how Chris Redfield got through this without some measure of enjoyment— what else could Chris be fighting for other than the fight itself?

Chris shuddered a breath and followed Piers. “Where is the other hostage?”

 _“The floor above you,”_ HQ said, startling Chris, making him feel even more off centered. Someone _wrong_ was trying to help him. What was going on? _“You need to move quickly.”_

_“Delta to HQ! All hostages on the top floor are secured! I’m leaving the building now!”_

So it was just down to Alpha— failure sunk like ice into Chris’s stomach, wondering if he was letting BSAA down by taking so long to get his half of the assignment done.

“We gotta move, Captain.”

Chris nodded and followed Piers again, insecure in what he was doing and who he was all over again. Alpha and Beta team scrambled up the stairs to the next level. Chris envied them for their solid belief in their mission, observing how they filed into the rigid maze of the eighth floor with complete confidence in their cause. As the hostage was carried between stalls that split off level like a chessboard, Chris wondered if he should ask Piers what he’s fighting for so that Chris could have an easier time faking it. 

Then the hostage screamed, and it was like Chris had been slammed back into his body from a drop from a high place. It all made sense, sudden clarity overcoming him and making his hands shake as he pursued the hostage and infected with mindless intent, just as he’d done moments before. The hunt was what he had, the hunt for the survivors— that was why Chris was here.

The teams were shouting at each other, trying to coordinate and catch this infected that moved with the sharp speed and agility of a spider. Chris had the flash of a memory that he wasn’t familiar with, a dark mansion, a cold underground, and spiders the size of his own body. The memory shook him and gave him clarity in the same moment. 

“Everyone!” he roared, needing to be heard over the chaos. “Two men at the exit, two men at the south corners of the stall closest to the exit, two men at the north of the other— everyone else, surrounded the area! Fire on my mark!” They were gonna corner this thing, nice and dirty. There was a chorus of agreement, the men working quickly to follow his orders, Chris putting himself at the opposite end of the human wall they’d made between the stalls. Piers was just across from him— the look he gave Chris now was a lot easier to read. He looked proud.

Chris tore his gaze from Piers’s and wondered why that mattered so much. Then a screech interrupted his thoughts, bringing Chris back to the plan. There was the scratch of the talons on the floor by the exit, the infected crawling overhead with the hostage struggling and whimpering. As the infected scrambled about on the ceiling, it quickly realized it didn’t have any easy way out. Satisfaction swam through Chris as the shrieking became more desperate. He put his arm in the air, holding his hand up, holding his breath and waiting for the perfect—

The infected turned away from Chris and the others are the north side of their trap, exposing the juicy, pulsating thorax, the most important part of the hostage shielded by the infected’s distorted body. Chris closed his hand into a fist. Bullets filled the air, tearing the infected to shreds with deadly efficiency. The infected clung to the ceiling with the sharp pincers in its death throes, dropping the hostage to the ground. The suit-clad man curled into a ball, eyes wide and traumatized, making Chris feel guilty for how excited he was that his plan had worked. “Get him out of here,” he ordered a man on Beta team, chiming into comms as the hostage was lifted into the arms of the soldier. “Alpha to HQ— eighth floor hostage secured.”

 _“Copy that.”_ Now Chris could get his team the fuck out of— _“There’s one more on the first floor.”_

Frustration welled up in Chris’s chest even as Piers nodded and waved the team with him as he headed for the stairs again. Did it really never end? And did they really need—

“Bravo team, head out,” Chris suddenly ordered, realizing he was usurping Piers’s control, but having a gut feeling that he didn’t need this man people putting their lives at risk for a single hostage. The more people that were in here, the more targets there were for the infected to snatch out from under him. Piers looked momentarily annoyed, but the expression quickly soothed itself away as Bravo team acknowledged and left, heading out the way they’d come in. Chris joined Piers at the stares, grimacing, feeling the need to explain himself. “They’ve done their part— someone needs to escort the hostages back to evac.”

“That’s not why you sent them away.”

Chris looked sharply to Piers, who gave him another unreadable look before heading down the stairs. “I know you don’t remember everything, Captain,” Piers began as he jogged down the levels, knowing Chris would come with him. “But I think you remember enough of the worst of it. You’re right— we don’t need all of them putting their heads on the chopping block for a single hostage. We can handle this.”

Relief flooded Chris in knowing Piers understood what Chris couldn’t put into words. It didn’t matter if these soldiers had signed up for this schtick; one life wasn’t worth five others. Not so far, at least.

_“Delta one to HQ— all hostages on the fifteenth floor are secured. Leaving the building now!”_

Chris grimaced, feeling that sense of failure again. “They’re fast.”

“They’re getting the easy route.”

Chris nearly tripped down the stairs beneath him when Piers said that, looking to the sniper again. Piers gave him a grim smile as they passed the fourth floor door. “You’re the best the BSAA has, Captain— they give you the hard shit cause you’re the only one who can do it.”

That didn’t— “Don’t they know I’m not exactly their infamous Chris right now?”

“I don’t really know,” Piers replied stiffly, surprising him. “I gave them a report on your wellbeing, but who knows if they get how bad it is.” Piers glanced to him as the building rumbled and shifted, concrete dusting their heads as they kept moving. “You are bad, aren’t you?”

Chris didn’t know how to answer that. He hesitated, wondering what he could say that wouldn’t alarm Piers but also wouldn’t give him false hope. There was only one thing that was really sticking with Chris. “Your eyes are the wrong color.”

Piers made a face. “What the hell? What color should they be?”

“Blue.”

The younger man was bewildered, so that meant he didn’t know who Chris knew that had blue eyes. And here Chris had been, hoping for some answers. That frustration welled up again, Chris wondering just who the fuck he could actually trust and believe was close to him when his own right hand didn’t know a damn thing about him.

_“This is Delta one— clear of the building.”_

_“This is Delta two— clear of the building!”_

_“HQ here, copy that. Alpha Team is still on the premise. Once they’re clear, we’ll commence bombing.”_

“Looks like it’s up to us,” Piers said as they came up on the first floor exit.

“I hate the bombs,” Chris deadpanned. Piers gave him another one of his looks as Chris pushed through the exit door, and then quickly dropped off to the side, taking cover behind the wall as he was welcomed with gunfire. “I’m getting the feeling we’re not welcome here!”

“We can take them!” Piers insisted, oddly optimistic for someone being barraged by projectile weaponry. Chris gave him a rueful smile before grabbing a grenade, pulling the pin and rolling it across the ground into the room. Piers’s eyes went huge before he hunkered down into a defensive crouch, pressing his hands over his ears. The grenade went off, the sharp bang piercing Chris’s ears, but the pain was nothing compared to the satisfaction he felt as the infected were thrown by the shrapnel, blown to smithereens. Under the cover of the grenade, Chris ran into the room, spraying his clip across the area and taking out the stragglers. He could hear Piers cursing him in the comms, saying something about reckless martyrdom, but ignored him. 

With the room clear, he saw the hole in the floor and heard a woman’s voice beneath. Not even glancing down, Chris threw himself through the floor and hit the ground rolling, coming up and shooting the assailants that looked more than human. There was the thump of boots behind him, and Chris turned back, expecting to see Piers with the hostage, but saw another attack with a machete grab for the hostage instead. Chris didn’t even think— he whipped up his sidearm and shot the assailant cleanly in the head. The hostage sobbed and sagged to her knees in relief. “I’m coming down, captain!”

Chris nodded, meaning to reply when he suddenly saw the gun he was holding— and just like that, his world stopped. As Piers hit the ground and reached for the hostage, bringing her up to stand and lean onto his shoulder, Chris held the firearm out to Piers with a scowl. “This isn’t mine.”

Piers gave him a bewildered look as he stared at the Taurus PT909 in Chris’s hand. “Captain, we have to go.”

“This isn’t mine,” Chris repeated, feeling out of his mind for a moment. “Where’s Mathilda?”

Piers looked at him like he’d grown a second head. He hoisted the woman further up his shoulder and pressed into comms. “First floor hostage secured.”

_“Copy that, Alpha. Now clear out of there.”_

Piers nodded and pulled the hostage away while Chris stared at the 909 and hated how large it was in his grip. He huffed and followed Piers, heading to the lift gate that was pulled up for their arrival, two more BSAA soldiers filing in to help them get the hostage away. “Come in, HQ,” Piers said as he passed the woman over. The soldiers took her out onto the streets, and they followed. The sweltering heat of the city on fire was stifling. “All hostages are okay. Alpha Team is clear.”

_“Copy that— just get clear of the building!”_

Chris barely heard the order, staring again at the gun in his hands. It was a good gun, he knew that instinctively, but it just wasn’t right. The whole thing was too huge to be his and the grip felt unfamiliar in a way his ACR hadn’t. It was loud, too— Chris distinctly remembered the bang of the single shot that had saved the hostage almost startling him. Chris had the sudden and overwhelming urge to throw this gun aside, waste its use and importance to his survival for the sake of his petty insistence that it wasn’t right and it wasn’t his. It was loud and cumbersome and graceless, the opposite of the gun he should have. The more he stared at the 909, the angrier he felt.

“Captain, what the fuck—”

A hand yanked Chris back by the shoulder just as missiles hissed through the air and slammed into the building Chris had just escaped. The bombing was taking place _now,_ , and Chris had forgotten to run. He stumbled back, Piers desperately pulling him away. The heat of the explosions were like brute force, knocking Chris back and sending him gasping for cool air. The sounds of the destruction made his head hurt and his teeth rattled in his skull with every impact. He dropped onto his knees with Piers dropping atop him, the sniper covering Chris with his own body to make up for how Chris had lost himself to a gun and nearly died in the process. 

The bombing ended in a matter of seconds and Chris heaved a breath, choking on debris and smoke as Piers stood on coltish legs and pulled Chris up as well. “You can’t do that, Chris,” Piers told him, brow knit, concern clear as day through the dirt and sweat covering the young man’s features. “Jesus, you could have gotten yourself killed!”

Chris knew that and he knew he’d fucked up, but that suddenly didn’t matter. He looked back at what had once been a sixteen story building, a piercing, neon atrocity full of terror, now reduced to nothing but a gaping hole in the ground. He stumbled towards it, seeing there was a basement level exposed to the open air by the bombing. Scaffolding and wiring and ruined structured jutted from the basement level, but there was something visible down there that wasn’t normal. Chris staggered to the edge of the hole in the ground, Piers following him because there wasn’t much else he could do. As Chris reached the ledge, he squinted down into the mess of flames and saw—

_A hand reaching for him, a young face—_

_Cocoons the size of people, monsters born from the cracks—_

_A woman smiling like sin in human form, her eyes twinkling with mirth as Chris watched his people die—_

_“Captain—”_

“Captain?”

Chris gasped desperately for air as his head exploded into waves of pain, Chris forced to his knees with the agony of it. A hand was on his shoulder as the memory drowned Chris, the pain unbearable and the young face staring back at him twisting Chris’s chest. Just as quickly as the hurt had come, it died away again, leaving Chris with only a name. He stared into the fire and stared at the cocoons and whispered, “Finn.”

There was a sharp breath from Piers. “What?”

“Finn,” Chris repeated, standing shakily. “I— Finn. I remember Finn.” He looked back at Piers and hated the pain in the other man’s eyes. “Finn’s gone.”

“Yeah,” Piers confirmed uselessly. “He’s gone.”

Chris shuddered a breath as events slowly filtered into his mind, terrible decisions becoming mistakes that took lives from his hands, sand slipping between his fingers. “It’s my fault.”

“No,” Piers instantly denied, shaking his head. “It wasn’t your fault, Captain. You could have never seen it coming. None of us saw it coming.”

_The woman with the smile like the devil—_

Below, BSAA men and women filtered in double time, spraying the cocoons with flame, exterminating the virus quickly and heartlessly. Finn could have been in one of those cocoons and these people wouldn’t have given a shit. Anger bled into Chris again and left him tired and aching for the next pull of his trigger. “Piers,” he said slowly, watching cleanup with a calculating expression. He had remembered another name. 

“Sir?”

Chris ground his teeth. “What happened to Ada Wong?”

Piers’s boots dragged through the rubble as he darted to Chris’s side. “You remember!” he gasped again, really getting it this time. He was sure Piers was expecting something good from this, something positive in the midst of this terrible situation. How the hell could anything come from the memory swimming in Chris’s head? 

His men, his whole team. In the basement of some ruined building, screaming and writhing in agony as their bodies melted and bled into a bubbling shell of flesh and disease. The shell cracking, revealing monsters no longer bearing the faces of the men Chris had loved and protected with his life. Chris’s team— Chris’s _family._ In the blink of an eye and the toss of a grenade and in the time it took to smile like the devil— 

Gone.

How could Piers expect anything good coming from that?

“Captain?”

Chris couldn’t look at him. “Where is she?” 

Piers was a good soldier. “She’s leading Neo-Umbrella. All these terrorists are—”

“Is she in the city or not!” Chris interrupted cruelly, turning to Piers to glare daggers into him. This finally gave Piers a moment of hesitation, those wrong-colored eyes staring at Chris like he didn’t know him.

“… She’s been sighted several times since the attack began,” Piers finally said, giving a nod. “Yeah, she’s here.”

That fucking _bitch_ —

Chris stood, turning away from the fire, not even looking at Piers as he growled, “Tell the men we’re moving out.”

He could feel Piers’s eyes on him as he stalked away, but Chris wasn’t able to turn around and he wasn’t able to give in. The anger that had been brewing so steadily had boiled over into hatred towards this singular, sickening human being. Chris didn’t care who he had to put down to keep them out of his way, he was going to kill Ada Wong so he could look Finn McCauley in the eyes in his nightmares and tell the kid he’d done his best in the end.


	4. Chapter 4 Pt 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sooooooooo sorry I wrote this chapter way too long so it's getting split into two parts don't worry I'm posting them at the same time I'm just so sorry DX

Stepping into the cathedral was no a relief. The hope in the eyes of the citizens, the dismal conditions, the harsh dose of reality Leon was about to deliver—

“Sorry, guys. We’re not rescue workers.”

Like he could rescue anyone in the first place. Jessica and her father, the madwoman in the subway tunnels searching for her son, the elderly lady who had stared into Leon as she’d been eaten alive against the fence, the man stuck under the car that had been torn open by the wheels of a wild motorcycle, that asshole Peter, Peter’s girlfriend, the old man, the young Japanese kid, the cop—

The cop.

The cop facing an apocalypse on his first day on the force, the cop who had fought so hard to save anyone and everyone around him, the cop that had caught Leon’s eye when a firefight had ended for a few seconds only to give him a boyish, tired smile that had frozen the blood in Leon’s veins. The cop who had died in front of Leon, lifted up by rotting arms, devoured head first into putrid mouths. Leon already knew he was going to have to drink to get past a lot of what had happened tonight. He also knew that no amount of drink would allow him to forget that cop.

The echo of himself. What should have happened. What Leon should have been after all this time.

Dead.

That cop— his smile had been so fucking innocent, so untouchable. Was that how Chris had seen him all those years ago in RPD? Just— just young and brave and desperate to live? Was that what Chris had seen?

Out of his head and back in the church, the civilians turned away, disappointment visible in their slumped postures. Only one of them came forward, approaching Helena, offering her a shotgun that Helena haltingly accepted. “You guys can use that better than I ever could,” the civilian said, unable to keep their words from sounding dismal despite the forced optimism of the phrase itself. As Leon tried to shake the water out of his eyes, he wondered if that man who had broken the cathedral window had regretted helping them at all. He could hear someone sobbing further into the grand stone room that reminded him a lot more of Spain that he wished. These people here, the few and far between that had survived, didn’t have a lot left in them.

Thunder rumbled above them and Leon clenched his hands into fists. Helena took a step forward, pointing into the nave of the cathedral room. “There’s a secret door by the alter that leads underground,” she said so matter-of-factly. “But we need to find a way to open it.”

“What the fuck, Helena?” Leon sighed and looked over Rot, chambering the cartridge, not having a good feeling with this whole fiasco. “You wanna tell me what’s down there?”

Helena looked to him, her expression solemn. “It’s better if I show you.” 

She looked back ahead, almost leaving Leon speechless— almost. “I really disagree,” he deadpanned. “You’ve brought me from the university all the way through that hell of a city and into this shit hole of a cathedral where the only thing I can reasonably do is disappoint every single god damn citizen in here just under the excuse of saying you’d tell me what the fuck is going on, and once we’re finally here, that’s all you give me? That you have to _show_ me?” He moved to stand in front of her in case she tried to get away. “I don’t think you understand just how bad of a day I have been having, but let me promise you that there’s really no way you’re going to be able to make it worse with whatever you think you should show me, so why don’t you just drop the act and tell me like a god damn adult? Let me decide for myself if I need to be shown or not.”

“And if I don’t tell you, what’re you gonna do?” Helena challenged, holding up her chin. “You gonna turn back? And go where? Into Tall Oaks? The university? That room where the President is?” Leon flinched at the title— jesus, he flinched at the _title._ “You came this far, Leon. I know you won’t be able to turn back now.”

“You don’t know me,” Leon said because that was better than saying she was right; he couldn’t turn back. He’d seen far too many people die tonight and he had one last thing to live for. If he went back into Tall Oaks now, he knew he wouldn’t make it out a second time. 

Leon turned to the nave, angry that she was able to read him so easily, but even angrier that he had made himself so easy to read. With every death Helena had seen him witness, she’d had to pull him away and push him forward, push him onwards to the cathedral. Helena acted like she didn’t give two shits about the people who died, but she had seen Leon gave more than enough to have some sense of duty to this town and its sufferers. God—

When had Leon become so much like Chris? And why did he only realize it now once Chris was dead?

Helena moved further into the cathedral, passing the nave to reach the chancel and the alter. She waited for him and Leon took in a deep breath to steady himself before walking calmly through the tiny crowd of survivors.

It was the despair that pulled at his psyche the worst.

Leon had always felt morbidly lucky in the sense that most of the places he was sent into were already well beyond saving, but bearing recent witness to the collapse of the rebellion in the Eastern Slav Republic had shown Leon a new kind of horror— the horror in a group of people fighting to survive and die trying. He almost wished he was coming into the aftermath of an apocalypse, not the play-by-play. Looking over these people and wondering which of them would make it out— if any at all— made him feel useless in a way that had him wanting to give up just like they were. Slumped on the ground and weeping, clawing at hope that would prove fruitless. Leon wouldn’t give up, of course, because he had a gun and a ghost snapping at his heels, but he sometimes wished he could. As he’d told Adam so long ago—

There had been so many times in Raccoon City where he’d really just considered eating a bullet. That was before Chris had shown up. It was always Chris who showed up. That was how the BSAA worked, after all. While Leon got the tail end of apocalypses, Chris was sent into the thick of it time and time again.

And it had killed him.

A woman sobbed loudly beside him as he passed and Leon kept his eyes ahead, reaching the alter and Helena. The alter itself was terrifying in a way that didn’t seem Christian to Leon. The strange figured looming above, cloaked with what could be a woman just beneath him. The twin pillars standing on either side acting as centers of lift, holding the statue in the air. The alter itself was large enough to fit several people in at once if it opened from the top like Leon thought it would. But then Helena said, “There are stairs under this statue,” and Leon was left only more confused. She sighed. “It was open the last time I was here. Shit, what do we do?”

Leon gave her an incredulous look. He wanted to remind her that she was the one who had dragged him here so insistently, but he knew it wouldn’t help. He cut his chin to the side and told her what he always told himself in situations like this, “Eh, we’ll figure something out.” There was a loud, braying sob from someone behind them, the cacophony of a man losing his mind to what he’d seen. Leon grimaced and refused to look back. “Let’s take a look around.”

He broke off from her, eyes alert and searching for pieces of a puzzle he was certain existed. Remnants of RPD and that psycho Chief Irons told him what he should look for— tiny objects, normally innocuous, seemingly belonging and yet distinctly out of place. He went to one of the bénitier and frowned at the small statue of the Madonna of Happiness that was steeped in the Holy Water. She definitely didn’t belong there.

Leon snatched her up, going back to Helena and holding the small Madonna up for her to see. “This isn’t just part of the décor,” he told her, relieved to have something to put his brainpower towards. “Places that have secret passage ways always have even more secret ways to get in.”

“You’re right,” Helena said, thankfully quick on the uptake. “There’s more here than meets the eye.”

It was just a fucking puzzle, but sure. Leon moved past her, jogging down the south aisle and testing the doors, searching.

“My son Marco, he’s with the BSAA.”

Leon went still. He glanced over his shoulder, listening to the old man talk.

“You watch,” the guy went on. “He’ll be here with the whole army any minute now.”

Leon didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know how to break it to the guy that no one was coming for them. Even Hannigan had failed to fill them in on any possible evac or rescue missions or assaults. As far as Leon knew— and he would be the first to know— no one was coming for them. Especially not BSAA.

Leon turned away to keep looking.

“Leon!”

The call echoed in a way that suddenly had Leon remembering Ashley of all people. He glanced around at the gothic architecture, noting similarities and fighting down a smile that wasn’t appropriate, but suddenly something he couldn’t fight back, something infectious and almost insane, because—

Ashley and Mike had just gotten married a few months ago in a chapel just like this one. Leon hadn’t been able to make it, but he’d seen the pictures, an entire photo album sent his way with a personalized dedication in the back that detailed the best man’s speech— the speech that was all about the two unknown soldiers who were to thank for Ashley and Mike being alive and able to celebrate nearly nine years of love with the beginning of marital bliss. Leon took a step back and wondered if Ashley really had thought of him at all during her special day, or if he would be forgotten just like Chris.

After all, Ashley hadn’t even known Chris was dead, yet she’d made it clear in the package that she was asking him for an address to send Chris his own album.

“Leon, I need your help!”

“Coming,” Leon said dully, pulling away from his thoughts to get back to Helena. She was waiting at a broken ladder that led up to the gallery above. Leon grimaced up at the ledge and went down on a knee, hoisting her up as was expected of him. He wasn’t sure what Helena thought she could find up there, but it was more progress than Leon getting lost in memories. He looked back at the people, wondering if there really was a way to help them or they were just sitting ducks. At least the doors of the church were secure and the windows out of reach to anyone outside.

There was a huge clang, Leon startling— along with the others in the room— and turning to see the the metal ladder drop down from the upper level. Leon looked up at Helena who stood there proudly with her hands on her hips. “Follow me, Agent,” she said, turning back and disappearing out of sight. Leon grimaced, hating the parallels of this entire place. He climbed the ladder quickly, checking the dark shadows that stretched along the gallery, and went to catch up with Helena. She was already down the walkway, looking at a pedestal. Leon passed her, staring up at the far wall at a message that was carved into metal.

“The two motherly saints will reveal the path,” he read aloud. “So we have to find another—”

“It’s right here,” Helena interrupted, staring at the Mother Mary on the pedestal. “What if it’s a trap?”

Leon stared at her, flabbergasted. “Why would the way in be a trap?” When she shrugged but continued to stare at the statute warily, Leon huffed, shaking his head. He snatched it up and said, “This isn’t Indiana Jones. No one sets genuinely deadly traps in public areas, especially if the trap would be killing the person trying to get into their own secret passageway.” He looked over the figure, seeing it was the Madonna of Charity. “It’s identical to the other one.” He passed Charity to Helena, cutting his chin to the other side of the gallery. “Put down the other.”

“Roger,” she said, grabbing the small statue and running for the other end. Leon watched her, again a little bewildered. Why was she wasting so much energy on getting a statue to the other side? It wasn’t like they were on some sort of time crunch.

Unless— they were. Helena had been cruel in her insistence of not wasting time in saving others, always pushing Leon to move and and get tot he Cathedral. Maybe there really was a ticking clock involved in all of this and Helena was becoming an anxious mess as she watched the seconds drop away. It was strange, but Leon couldn’t feel sorry for her. She was still too suspicious and Leon didn’t trust her as far as he could throw her. Even back in the cemetery, when he’d plainly said he didn’t think she’d come back for him if he fell, she’d only given some cryptic response about him never knowing. That wasn’t the kind of assurance to gave a supposed partner in the midst of combat.

Leon grimaced and looked away from her retreating figure, turning his gaze back to the pedestal. There was no sense in him dwelling over her imperfections. It wasn’t like he’d ever get to work with the ideal partner ever again. With Chris gone, he was basically condemned to always wishing for a ghost to come back to life.

“I’m ready!”

Leon put the Madonna of Happiness down on his pedestal, wondering if it would be just like RPD. As there was a soft click of a mechanism from deep within the walls, Leon had an inkling it was. 

Down below, the stone of the statue began to move. Leon leaned over the railing to get a better view, watching as the alter split in half, but only a few inches. He leaned over further, catching sight of a door below him opening— one of the locked doors from before. “Now we’re getting somewhere,” he said to himself with the tiniest grin. It was always nice to make some sort of visible progress. He headed for the ladder, sliding down and moving for the door, knowing Helena would catch up.

“I’ve had enough of these games,” Helena growled over the speaker in Leon’s ear. “Let’s go!”

“Don’t be so hasty,” Leon warned as he crept carefully into the room, looking around for any traps. It was a decrepit old room, large but split in half by half walls that were stone columns, two levers on either side of the room. There was a weird fountain with twin blue flames to the left, another puzzle. “Moving too quickly means you’ll miss something— and you’ll likely wake something else up.” Something he would rather stayed asleep.

“Like you would know,” Helena snapped, rather unfairly in Leon’s opinion. He raised a brow at her, wondering if she really knew who he was like she’d implied earlier in knowing his name. He had assumed she’d read the Kennedy report or something similar, but maybe she was getting her information from a different source.

“Grab that lever,” he said instead of what he was thinking. He waited for her to get into position, then pulled his down in unison with Helena. There was another click and creaking, but the wall by the blue flames shuddered and stilled as there was a thunk behind it, like something had run into the wall. “Huh,” he said, hoping whatever trap had been set had failed.

The next room was largely the same as the last, but wider and with more blue flames every few feet along the walls. Bars separated him and Helena, who scowled at her lever that was at the opposite end. “We don’t have time for this crap!”

“Just pull your lever and move on,” Leon huffed, yanking his down once she was ready. There was more of the shuddering stone, but still nothing. “See?” he asked. “These places are old and they weren’t built to last long under misuse. I doubt anyone’s used this way down in a long time. Most people getting in would have a key that bypasses these traps entirely.”

“So?” Helena demanded as they moved into the next room, which was much smaller and filled with warm light rather the blue flames. There was a red laser light piercing a flaming globe of a statue to Leon’s left, the statue appearing to be Atlas carrying the world. “We have more important things to be doing than these stupid traps!” Leon ignored her and aimed his sights up, letting Rot’s red light join the other, the doors in front of them sliding open. Cool air of outside hit his face and he grimaced, heading onto an outdoor walkway that had arches along the sides— way too fucking much like Spain. He glanced to his right and saw Helena and him were separated by a wall, so he felt safe in grumbling a little. “Gonna have a word with the architect,” he huffed. “Taking all their designs from somewhere else— unoriginal shithead.”

He jogged the path, coming upstairs and seeing a human shadow thrown along the wall from behind a sharp turn. He rounded said corner quickly, seeing another one of the globes before had casted the shadow. Good— another puzzle. Leon was _good_ at puzzles.

_“This is ridiculous,”_ Helena complained over comms. _“Why are there so many traps?”_

“How else do these people keep the unworthy from finding their way inside?” Leon replied, honestly used to this. “Just imagine them as guards— failsafes we have to get through. The more traps we find, the more important the goal.” He climbed the next flight of stairs and aimed the laser sights at the globe again, heading for the door that opened. He hoped Helena was moving along just as quickly as he was. “You can’t change that it’s in your way— just keep calm so you don’t lose your head.”

_“I know what I’m doing, Leon.”_

“Pretty sure I don’t know what _this_ even is,” Leon whispered in frustration as he got into the next room and saw the high ceiling, the walkways on either side, and the doors. Leon took a step back to get the prefect angle for the laser sight to hit the globe up above, ignoring Helena as she got into the room. That frustration wasn’t mixing well with the fury and the pain from the ordeal this night was turning out to be. He always fell into a sort of calm when solving puzzles, but Helena was quickly challenging that clarity he used to survive these things. Anger only got him as far as combat— when he needed to use his head, he needed to be level. Helena wasn’t letting him keep his head level. 

The doors opened and Helena went through hers before Leon could say anything. He grimaced and did the same, searching for the next—

A hand grabbed his ankle and Leon reacted quickly, yanking back and slamming three shots into the head of the infected that had crawled across the ground. Just like that, it was put down, but Leon couldn’t move on so quickly. He stared at the corpse— his stomach twisted.

“We should stop,” he told Helena into comms quickly. 

_“What?!”_

“I nearly got my foot taken off by a zombie,” Leon said. “We need to stop.”

_“I did too— we survived, so what’s the problem?”_

Did she not— “The problem is that we have civilians below us that are probably the only surviving people of Tall Oaks,” Leon snapped into the speaker, pissed she didn’t understand and cared so little for the lives of others. Always pushing Leon to move on and leave someone behind. Absolutely heartless. “I don’t know what we’re trying to get into, but there are officially infected in this cathedral that had once been thought to be a safe zone. We need to stop before we get everyone downstairs killed.”

_“Do you want your answers or not, Leon?”_

“I don’t want anyone else dying!” Leon’s shout echoed across the stone and back to him, the fury in his voice almost astounding. “Our job is to protect these people, not—”

_“My job was to protect the president,”_ Helena interrupted harshly. _“The people I’m after are the ones responsible for his death— maybe you think you’re here to keep those people safe, but I’m here to bring justice for President Benford.”_

Leon flinched, her words sharp like a knife. He suddenly couldn’t forget the sound of Adam’s body hitting the ground. Helena had been Adam’s guard— Leon had been Adam’s _friend,_ even rarely called family. Adam hadn’t been married, no wife or husband or kids to his name. His confidant had been Leon and Leon had put a bullet in his head. Was Leon really supposed to be protecting people, something he was terrible at according to his track record, or was he supposed to be seeking revenge for Adam?”

“Revenge,” he whispered to himself. “Am I…”

Chris wouldn’t want him to fight for revenge. Leon knew that, beyond a shadow of a doubt. Even with everything Chris had lost and how many had betrayed him, Chris had never been a vengeful kind of guy. It was one of the many reasons Leon felt safe around him, felt steady, held in place by a solid anchor. Even with Wesker, Chris had only been seeking the safety of the world in killing that horrible man, and never revenge for what Wesker had done to him, personally. Chris would never be so unhinged as to fight solely for revenge.

Funny thing was— Chris had always been a better person than Leon.

“Revenge,” he said to himself again, telling himself he enjoyed the sound of the word. It encapsulated his anger and hatred for these viruses, the pain he felt for everyone he’d seen die and everyone he knew still would. Because god fucking knew Leon couldn’t save a damn soul— the least he could do was avenge them. 

Leon hated how his gut instinct rebelled against the concept to his core because he knew this was probably the only thing that could really keep him going now that Chris and Adam were both gone. “I’m with you, Helena,” he said solemnly. _“Good,”_ Helena replied from across the terraces. _“Now help me—”_

Leon lifted Rot and put the sights on the Atlas statue that was through a break in the front wall, in the next room high above their heads. The globe lit aflame and the doors open, allowing Helena and Leon into the same room, no longer separated. At the far end was another pedestal, a small statue atop it. Leon collected the Madonna of Sorrow. “Let’s move.”

They headed up stairs and Leon spotted a corpse. Helena moved past it, but Leon didn’t/ He frowned at the body, seeing it was just a civilian, and wondered how the man had died here. He looked to the gun clutched in the dead man’s arms, pulling the Mk 14 Mod 0 EBR with Harris bipod and RIS foregrip from the stiff hands. “Could be useful,” Helena said while Leon checked over the weapon, pleased to see it had a little ammo left.

“You’re probably right,” he admitted. “It’s weird— I’m used to getting such nice little upgrades from the living, not the dead.”

Helena frowned at him. “DSO did weapon drops?”

“STRAT, not DSO,” Leon corrected. “And no, neither of them really did.”

“Then how did you get upgrades?”

Leon smirked a little at the memory of Fish. “Friendly locals.”

Helena made a face, clearly skeptical and not liking how cryptically Leon was talking. Leon shrugged and slung the rifle over his back, comforted by the weight. Rot was always the one and only weapon Leon stubbornly kept in his arsenal, but having a little variety was never a bad thing. Helena was waiting for him impatiently, so Leon dug in and moved for the arched opening that brought them—

Lightning flashed and Leon flinched back, a hand coming up to shield his face protectively as it had done back in the university. Helena’s boots slapped through the water beside him as he stopped, the steps quickly stopping and returning to him. “Why do you keep falling behind?” she demanded. “It’s just a storm.”

Leon was guessing Helena had never been deployed into a real combat situation. He gave her a tired glare and set a brisk pace, knowing she was right and that he really needed to get his shit together. It was just a little lightning, Kennedy, don’t lose it over something as stupid as this. Chris would have told him it was just god or something overhead and Leon would have laughed and move on. It was no different now.

The rain was still pouring, drenching Leon, undoing what little opportunity he’d had to dry off in the cathedral. “I read something back inside while you were getting that gun,” Helena told him, raising her voice to be heard over the storm. “We need to shoot the bells!”

Leon nodded, taking a step back and breathing deeply to clear his head. “How are your range scores?”

“Good enough,” Helena simpered. 

“Then get the bells on the left.” There were four spires overhead and two weathervanes, all of which had cast iron bells swinging weakly in the wind. Hopefully ricochet wouldn’t reach them this far away. Helena marched away as Leon brought Rot up and clearly shot every bell on the first try, feeling a rush of satisfaction to know he still had it in him. Even the tiny bell that span on the weathervane was no issue. Helena’s shots rang through the next just out of line of sight. Fires light beneath the towers as the bells rung menacingly through the storm. “That’s all of them,” Leon said, mostly to himself. “Kind of feel bad shooting antiques.”

“Here!” 

Leon looked back as Helena returned, carrying the Madonna of Grief. There was a door in front of her, now unlocked. “That should be it, right?” she asked

Leon shrugged, looking over the statue. He missed Charity and Happiness. “How should I know? I didn’t make this place. These architects think they’re all so clever too. Who knows how much more there is?”

Helena had a fleeting expression of despair before determination swam through and overcame. “Then we need to get moving.”

Leon nodded, heading for the stairs down as the door lifted. He went through the arch with Helena, blinking as they came out onto the third gallery level above the nave. Leon peered down over the ledge at the citizens below and shook his head. “I know I’ve said it before,” he murmured. “But this really is exactly like Raccoon City, down to the fucking design.”

Helena gave him a strange look. “Was Raccoon City really this bad?”

“They blew it up,” Leon told her incredulously. “How much worse could it get?”

“I don’t know,” she defended. “I’ve never seen anything like this before. The most I remember of that was my mother teaching me and my sister the bug out route in case it happened to us. Avoid the subways, streets, and airport. Stick to alley ways and isolated areas. Carry light and run fast and don’t—” She cut herself off for a moment, grimaced and looked away. “And don’t go back for her. Don’t go back for anyone. Save yourself.”

Leon felt bad for her. He knew how it felt to grow up living with such fear. “Raccoon City was a disaster,” he said softly. “Something we should have learned from and prepared for. But the truth of the matter is that it was more than just a freak accident. That was… That was what Adam was going to talk about tonight. What had really happened. _How_ it had happened.” He stared down at the people below, counting heads. Only six people had survived Raccoon City. Maybe Tall Oaks would be different in that statistic. “I’m sorry you had to grow up like that. It’s not good for a kid to be so caught up in all that worry.”

“How would you know?” Helena asked him stiffly, as combatant as always. “When you were growing up, zombies were just horror movies.”

“Not every kid is lucky enough to have a mom that cares enough to teach them how to live.” Leon pushed away wooden railing and cut his chin down the walkway. “Let’s move.”

Helena stared at him, unreadable and quiet. Leon moved anyways, heading for the end of the gallery where the rose window of the cathedral was. He saw the two pedestals and took out his Madonna of Sorrow, placing it in its spot. Helena did the same beside him and they watched as the alter far below split in half, the statue lifting and allowing the way down to the depths of the structure. As the civilians approached, one of them even peering into the darkness, Leon—

Fuck.

Leon had a really bad feeling. 

“Get back!” He shouted, seeing only sinister intentions in that darkness, lifting Rot and trying to get a shot at whatever he knew was going to come through. The civilians were stupid and tired and dense, getting in the way. Leon’s heart pounded and Helena hissed his name, demanding why he was losing it. _“Everyone, get the hell out of there!”_

“It could be a way out!” a woman cried from below as she began to move towards the gaping hole that resembled the maw of a monster. “You can’t keep us from escaping this—”

A grotesque form staggered from the darkness, humanoid and dripping, pulsing mounds in its body with gaping holes that a kind of gas wafting from like poison. It’s whole body was swollen and huge, swaying with every step. Its feet slopped on the marble, the horrific face overtaken by disease. Leon shuddered bodily at the sight of it, having never seen anything like it and knowing everyone in this entire cathedral as going to die. 

The creature reached the top of the stairs and thrashed, shrieking like a banshee with toxicity dripping from its body.

“What is that thing?” Helena asked, voice shaking.

“You’re asking me?” Leon demanded sharply even as he pulled away from her and brought up Rot, checking over his ammo as he sprinted for the ladder down. The sounds of the people below them screaming and fleeing tore his gaze to the floor below just in time for him to see a man shoot the creature only to be assaulted with a cloud of pale gas. The man screamed and dropped to the floor, a woman scrambling forward to help him while all the others fled. And as the woman tried to pull the man to his feet, the only one to think to save the others, the man turned his rotted face to her and howled, dragging her to the ground and sinking his teeth into her body.

“I’m guessing that’s what unleashed this hell!” Leon gasped into comms as he reached the ladder and slid down the rungs, not even caring as his skin was burned by the old wood, his gloves foolishly absent. He made a mental note to never take them off again as he hit the lower level, Rot up as he advanced towards the new breed of monster and the chaos it had caused. 

His first shot slammed into the skull of the man who had been infected, recognizing him as the same man who’d come to their rescue outside the church, making clean shots from above while the aged corpses of the cemetery had sprung for them. Leon gave the now-dead man a longer moment of his attention than he could afford, wishing he could tell the stranger he was sorry one more time. Sorry for not being the rescue these civilians had wanted, sorry for not being more help, and sorry for being the one to bring this creature into the open. Leon had unlocked all the puzzles, he’d shown Helena how to get into these kinds of places— he was the one to condemn all of these people to infection even after they’d fought so hard to live.

Leon S. Kennedy couldn’t save a god damn person out there— he was sure that Chris was disappointed in him, wherever he was.

“Where the hell did that thing come from?!” Helena cried out from beside him as she fired recklessly into the twitching, bulbous body.

Leon scowled, purposefully taking a step in front of her as the toxic fumes were released again and more civilians dropped to the ground, succumbing to infection in a matter of seconds. “Look out for its gas!” he shouted at her, begging her to understand what was at stake and that they had to be careful. If they could keep just one of these people from infection—

The monster shrieked again and the room suddenly went dark, all the lights snuffed out by the thickness of the gas that was now more teal than anything, stifling and sickening. Leon scrambled away, his arm coming up to cover his mouth and nose, eyes prickling with irritation. As he fought to get away from the hot zone, he stumbled, nearly tripping over something on the floor. As he caught himself on a pillar, he looked down and saw his foot tangled in a woman’s gouged stomach, his boots and the bottom of his jeans stained red as the dead woman began to stir, the gas bringing her to life. Leon shuddered hard, having never seen anything like it. He quickly put a bullet in her head and looked back to see where—

Oh fuck, it was gone. 

He heard the shriek from above not even a second later, Leon whipping around to see the gas emanating from the gallery above, along with the shouts of people that were still human. “Leon, it’s up there!” Helena cried out, as she sprinted for the ladder. 

“Can’t believe this thing can fucking climb,” he hissed to himself, this entire situation only getting steadily worse as the guilt threatened to overwhelm him. He clung to the anger instead, furious with himself and whoever had put something this dangerous under a church like— 

As Leon climbed the ladder after Helena, he suddenly realized that this entire outbreak was planned. 

Cold dread blossomed down his spine as he reached the top, waving his arm wildly for the attention of the civilians that were being cornered by the stumbling atrocity. “Don’t panic, people!” he shouted, knowing that panicking would kill them. “Just move away from the gas!” A woman ran past him, tears streaming down her face as her skin began to decay before Leon’s very eyes. He stared at the horrific sight and then moved on, knowing there was nothing to do, moving her from the civilian category to the dead category in his mind. “Everyone, out of the way!” He almost begged now as his boots slammed on the marble with his gait. “We’ll take care of this!”

The monster was releasing the most inhuman sounds as Leon steadied himself and fired Rot into the swollen stomach, praying that he’d get a lucky shot inside the welts that were releasing the gas, hoping to hit something inside. The two civilians left— _two civilians left_ — ran away from the creature, only one of them armed and doing their best to help Leon pepper the monster with bullets. The civilians were a man and a woman, the woman a strawberry blonde with haunting rifle that took too long to reload, and the man in a business suit. As Leon fired at the corpse, his attention was drawn to them. He met the eyes of the man that was trying to find a way down and away from the monster. Leon saw the fear.

“Shit!”

Helena’s shout had Leon looking away from the stumbling monster to see his partner pinned down by an infected— the woman that had passed Leon only seconds ago. Leon didn’t even think about it, lowering Rot and running for Helena, swiping his leg up to launch the infected off his partner, the toe of his boot sinking into the eye socket and chipping at bone. Helena recovered quickly with the weight gone, bringing up her own gun and putting the infected down. “Thanks,” she gasped, taking Leon’s offered hand, blood splattered across her fair skin that Leon prayed wasn’t hers. And as he looked his partner over for bites, he heard the hollow scream of a zombie.

Leon looked back to the monster and the two surviving—

He stopped in his tracks as the woman who’d been defending so bravely before turned to devour the jugular of the man she’d been protecting.

That was it.

Everyone was dead.

Tall Oaks was gone— Leon had played a crucial role in ensuring no one survived the outbreak. These people had been _safe_ until Leon had come in and ruined it all. He should’ve left that door shut— he knew better than digging deeper and taking such risks when there were more lives on the line than his own. He knew, better than anyone else, what these sick masterminds behind the viruses were truly capable of. 

“Oh god,” Helena choked out. “Leon, it’s coming for us.”

Well— he guessed that they technically were the last ones left. And as he clung selfishly tot hat anger rather than the pain, Leon lifted Rot and sent a silent prayer to Chris, hoping Chris would forgive him for taking so many innocent lives if Leon put down the monster. “Give it everything we’ve got.”

Leon wasn’t sure how many bullets it took, but the staggering creature was already red at the edges, dark blood oozing from the pores rather than gas. Leon aimed for the head now, shot after shot shattering teeth and what bone was left. He didn’t know how many bullets it took, but it went down quicker than he would of liked now that his focus was undivided. As the monster let out a death rattle and dropped over the railing, crashing into the floor of the nave below with black gas pouring from the welts, Leon was more sure than ever that he was only useful once there was no one left to save— once there was no one left for him to fail.

“Good job,” Helena told him quietly at his side. Leon’s gaze snapped to her, wondering how the hell any of this seemed good to her. He walked away from her before he took that anger in his chest out on his partner, sliding down the ladder again and not even wincing at the pain in his palms.

“Whatever is down there,” he told her as he approached the shuddering corpse of the monster and spotted a keycard on a lanyard stretched around the swollen neck. “It better be worth all of the dead you see around you.” He took the key and looked to her, eyes cold and severe. “And you should know that I’m not interested in sob stories.”

Helena flinched beneath his gaze, looking away after only a few moments. Leon turned away as well, taking the key and heading for the hole they’d opened in the alter. He went down the stairs first, Helena just behind, and looked at the wrought iron doors at the bottom. That thing— whatever it had been— had been contained down here as a final failsafe to keep them from getting inside. Leon was sure that whoever was responsible for this grotesque waste of human life was down here, but he couldn’t help but wonder if it was really worth it to take down whoever that was. If he had learned one thing during his time fighting BOWs, it was that there was always a bigger fish.

Leon swiped the keycard and the doors slid up and open, a display of new technology that didn’t bode well. Memories of the underground N.E.S.T. facility came to mind— the old architecture of Raccoon City contrasting with the new tech of Umbrella. He hated how history was repeating itself. The lifted door revealed a room with an industrial set of doors at the end. Leon heaved a breath. “Alright— ready?”

Helena paused. Leon didn’t look back until she finally replied, “Yeah.”

He glanced over his shoulder and saw the haggard look in her eyes. For someone who had fought so hard for Leon to get here, she suddenly didn’t look very eager for this final door to open for them.

What was revealed to them was probably the most disgusting dungeon maze Leon had ever seen— and he’d seen a lot more of those than he thought was normal to boast. The walls were grimy and covered in mold and disease, as was the floor and ceiling. The air was thick and heavy with putrefaction. His boots squelched unpleasantly with each step and his skin crawled. “Wish I believed god were looking out for us right now, but I think we’re on our own.”

“Didn’t think you’d believe in that kind of stuff,” Helena said as she followed him, trusting Leon to know how to navigate these kinds of places. She was lucky Leon actually knew how to. There were red lights above doors, likely an emergency exit laid out for them visually. If following the lights got people out, then following the lights also got people in.

“I don’t,” Leon drawled to answer her question, readjusting his grip on Rot and keeping his eyes open. “… But I don’t have any other claim to a heaven. I’ve got to have somewhere to look forward to, don’t I?”

“You hoping to see someone again, Leon?”

Helena’s question was a lot more gentle than he’d expected to come from her. There was no judgement in her tone, only a quiet understanding. She obviously knew Leon wasn’t thinking of reaching heaven solely for himself. If Leon was being honest, he was pretty sure he wouldn’t make it into heaven at all. But Chris had— Leon _knew_ Chris had. “I’m sure you’ve realized by now how many are lost in these situations,” Leon told her in lieu of leaving his bones exposed. “I like to think that there’s something better than this. Better than this hell we already live.”

Helena was silent for a moment. Then a gentle, “Me too.” Leon wondered who she had lost.

Leon stopped as he rounded a corner and saw a gate made of iron bars in front of them, the metal rusted and scaly. There was one of the red lights above it with some numbers to the left, all of them molded over except for the number two. There were papers scattered on the ground, but nothing legible, the ink bled away by the humidity of this place. Beyond the gate seemed to be a large room with the grating beneath their feet stretching to the other side like a grotesque red carpet, a large block at the end that had Leon thinking of some sort of pagan alter for sacrifice. There were metal contraptions on either side of the possible-alter as well, making Leon’s skin pebble with goosebumps. He didn’t like what he was seeing. 

“I found a panel,” Helena said from behind him. Leon looked to her and saw she was standing on a raised level, in front of some kind of computer. “I need a code to open the door— any ideas?”

Leon stepped back, looking at the number two. Then he looked at the other doors around them and quickly caught on to the pattern. The computer needed to be told which door to open. Since all the doors were labeled with the numbers zero through two and two hundred one was already taken, it left them one option. Leon grimaced, facing the door, reloaded Rot and said, “Two-one-zero.”

There were three soft beeps from behind, and then the light above the door went green. The gate slid up. Leon went in first, eyes alert, pulse racing as he swept his sights around. And yet— there was nothing. This entire disgusting underground, and there had been nothing. Leon didn’t like that one bit.

Especially when he saw the metal door to his left down a set of stairs, the door bearing the symbol of toxicity with the word “BIOHAZARD” above.

“Fuck,” he whispered to himself, clutching Rot even tighter for the sheer comfort of the sensation. He glanced back at Helena and saw how nervously she was eyeing the door as well. Leon shuddered a breath. “You with me?” Helena couldn’t speak— she only nodded. Leon nodded back and went to the door, pushing it open.

It was just a room. 

A concrete room, just as disgusting as the rest of this place, black ooze on the floor with one metal chair in the center beneath a floodlight and another toppled over on its side, a red metal door to the right. Contrasting how hesitant she had been before, Helena charged past Leon without warning, stopping in front of the chair. “Wait,” she whispered. “I remember this place…Deborah must be close!”

Leon’s brow furrowed. “Deborah?” Helena ignored him, running for the red door, a new energy to her steps that worried Leon. “Who?”

She didn’t answer him, shoving open the door with reckless abandon that worried him, murmuring, “Please be okay,” entirely to herself. The hallway revealed to them was reminiscent of a hospital that had fallen to ruin, a corpse on the floor in— in a _lab coat._

“Oh fuck this,” Leon gasped to himself, firing a shot into the head before the infected could even stand. Flashbacks barraged his senses and Leon struggled to drown the memory of N.E.S.T., of the Tyrant, of the chilling cold of the freezer, of the clicking that pierced his brain from the plants. As the infected on the floor groaned and tried to stand only to be dropped back down with another shot from Leon, Leon fought the sudden overwhelming need to look back and take comfort in the sight of Chris just behind him, the Samurai Edge in Chris’s hands rather than his own, a flamethrower with a stupid name slung over those broad shoulders.

With the infected down for good, Leon stopped in his tracks, desperately gulping down air as the pain in his chest threatened to drown him. Helena, despite her need to find this Deborah, stopped and looked back at him, brow knit with impatient concern. “The hell is happening to you?”

“Go,” Leon choked out, waving her ahead, clutching for anger to smother the horrible ache. “Just go— I’m right behind you.” He refused to look over his shoulder— he refused to be destroyed by the absence he was keenly aware of.

Fuck, if Leon wasn’t careful he was going to cry. The grief was still so close, so fresh— he’d never given himself to mourn and he was running from the grief itself constantly. He was scared that if he succumbed to the grieving process, then Chris’s death would become real. Chris would be pushed from one category in Leon’s mind to the other, and Leon just— He wasn’t ready for that. 

He would _never_ be ready for that.

“I need to find her.”

Leon nodded at Helena’s words and finally succeeded in shoving the memories down. He nodded again, waving her forward, then followed with a quick pace of his own. Leon’s shit could wait forever— he apparently had one last chance o save someone with Helena. 

They ran into a room full of shelving an equipment, an operating table in the center of the rom beneath bright lights and surrounded by machines. The crumpled body of a dead woman was across the plastic covered, Helena sobbing out some broken plea before running to the dead woman. “Oh thank god,” Helena burst out as Leon stared at the sight before him, trying to piece together the facts. “It’s not her. But where is she?”

More importantly, what was Leon looking at? The dead woman had black hair that appeared freshly dyed. Virus experimentation? Maybe testing the usefulness of different hosts? Leon wasn’t even sure if what virus he was facing now that he saw the infection came from an organic creature and not through injection or solely via the bite. It wasn’t Plaga, it wasn’t G, it wasn’t T— it was something new. Something like that report from Edonia— something like whatever had killed—

Helena ran off and panic swam through Leon that he desperately swallowed in return for pursuing her. “Helena, wait!” he hissed urgently. “We can’t split up!” She kicked open the next door and Leon knew he wouldn’t be able to stop her, Helena whispering feverishly to herself. If she’d been trying to save this Deborah the whole time, then it was no wonder she’d been frustrated with Leon getting “sidetracked” with his rescue missions. If Helena had someone she loved in danger…

Leon grimaced and followed her, realizing the best he could do was run with her and ensure she didn’t get herself killed in her desperation to save this Deborah. Leon just hoped they’d find her alive. Helena desperately scoured the halls and the adjoining rooms, growing more frustrated with every dead end. “She’s not here either!” Helena cried out as she kicked open another door to find nothing yet again. 

As she ran past Leon to start her search again, Leon followed with Rot down. “Who are we looking for?” he asked, not really expecting an answer. Helena was in her own world right now, a world of fear and panic. She haphazardly leaped over a table, sending paperwork flying and something made of glass shattering to the floor. It was too much noise, but Leon wasn’t even going to try to stop her as the next room proved to be empty again, Helena crying out as her fear began to overwhelm her again.

“Deborah, if you’re here!” she shouted foolishly, her voice echoing down the halls. “Give me a sign! Please, just give me a sign!”

This wasn’t looking good.

Another infected stood quietly between Leon and Helena, the lab coat drenched in blood and the face dark with decay. Leon could guess these people had been down here for more than a few days— they’d probably been infected long before Tall Oaks had fallen. Leon put the infected down cleanly, following Helena, praying she didn’t get herself killed.

Helena burst into the next room, another set of operation stations and equipment. Leon quickly shot the woman on the nearest table, alarmed when he saw that this woman looked a lot like the one from the previous room, dyed hair a fresh black and the eyes a delicate almond shape. The face had looked vaguely familiar before Leon had put a bullet in between the eyes and decimated the recognizable structure. He had such a bad feeling about all of this that he was beginning to feel nauseous. Helena ran on, ignoring everything, Leon following faithfully and ensuring none of the corpses stood and reached for her.

“I’m getting kinda tired of you stringing me along,” he called out after her. This was putting more than just his own life ind danger with how recklessly she was waking the dead and leaving them for him. “You told me once we made it to the Cathedral, you’d tell me what was going on. Then you wanted to get down inside, which we did, and now you’re still keeping secrets. Are you gonna fill me in or what?”

He was surprised when Helena actually responded. “I will, it’s just— we’re running out of time!” Yeah, Leon had gotten the feeling. “Please, Leon. Bear with me.” Well, if she was going to ask so politely— “Leon, help me with this door.”

Leon went to her side, facing the metal door that had paper peeling from the front. His gut feeling was screaming for him to turn back, that they weren’t going to like what he found, but he knew Helena wouldn’t be swayed. He nodded and put his shoulder to the door, grunting with the effort of forcing it open as rust screeched. The door gave and Leon slipped into the room first, Rot up and—

He stopped in his tracks at what he saw. Glass tubes taller than him, almost as wide as his arms could spread, held twisted corpses that floating inside a vicious fluid. Flashes of N.E.S.T. overwhelmed him, the G-Virus samples staring at him from their clear prisoners, Leon’s heart hammering erratically as what could only be described as PTSD made his movements erratic while he cleared the room with Rot up, the only thing standing between Leon and this terrible place. 

Whoever the fuck had made this was going to get a bullet between the teeth, courtesy of Leon S. Kennedy, vicarious revenge for everyone who had suffered to these viruses.

Helena darted in behind him, faltering at the sight of the bodies in the tubes. They were featureless and appeared to be covered in some hard casing, like a shell or a cocoon. Leon turned to her, knowing she was his only source of information. “What the hell is all this?” he demanded, infuriated by whoever was trying to bring Umbrella back into the world after Leon and so many others had fought for its defeat.

Helena shook her head, lit up by the mechanical light of the tubes and said, “None of these were here three days ago.”

What the fuck?

Leon looked back at her, suddenly unsure if she really was on his side. Was she being blackmailed with the life of someone she loved or— or was she really the one to blame for all of this? The only argument in Helena’s favor was the fact that she’d had plenty of opportunities to let Leon die, yet hadn’t. Helena had fought to keep him alive and with her, which wasn’t something the enemy would do, unless—

Unless whoever this was wanted Leon here. They wanted Leon in this facility, vulnerable and exposed. Helena had no reason to keep him alive unless she and the people behind needed Leon for something.

If that were the case, then it didn’t matter. Leon had been betrayed by more than enough people in his lifetime to know how to come back swinging. He’d do it for Chris if that was what it came to. Leon turned from Helena and headed for the end of the room, to where some computers were on a table against the wall along with screens and machinery, all of them displaying statistics and data and vital signs of subjects defined by numbers and letters. What caught Leon’s eye was a TV screen showing static, facing Leon like a dare. He approached it cautiously, then glanced around for some sort of control or clue or—

Or the fucking VCR tape on the table. 

Who the actual fuck still used VCR in 2013? Leon looked over the tape, lip curling a little in disdain for the games that were being played—

_Happy Birthday Ada Wong?_

“Ada?” he repeated to himself in quiet shock.

Leon’s heart stopped at the name of someone he knew well, though could never really call a friend. If Ada was involved wit the fall of Tall Oaks, then…

Well. 

If Ada was involved with the fall of Tall Oaks, Leon wouldn’t be surprised. Ada was a harbinger of death to the highest bidder. He liked to think she was above this sort of thing, liked to think she was at least somewhat morally sound enough to not condone the deaths of thousands of innocent lives, but could he really say he didn’t see this coming? Out of everyone who had betrayed Leon throughout his life, Ada Wong was the only repeated offender. She’d put a gun to his head three times and taken viruses to sell on the market those three times as well. Leon cared about her, he did. He sometimes even loved her like family, one of the few constants between every hell he fell into, one of the few people who really knew him and what he stood for. It wasn’t a healthy sort of love he felt for her, but he had so little of it to give that he cherished what little was given at all. But if Ada really was one of the people behind all of this—

There was no use putting off the inevitable. Leon pushed the VCR into the tape player, watching the screen with trepidation. Words flashed, distorted by age and wear, but still readable.

_C-Virus Experiment 12235_

_Project Ada  
Goal of Project Ada: To create a new life form from a chrysalid state._

_Date:_  
Location: C-Virus Test Center 14  
Experiment Number: 12235 

_Subject:_

_Result: Metamorphosis complete_

It felt like ice had run down Leon’s spine.

On screen, a circular shell nearly the height of half a person was shown in a room that was entirely black with a nameless doctor in the shadows. The shell cracked open, a pulsing blob rising from the back. The blob slowly began to appear more humanoid by the second, a featureless face rising and looking to the ceiling. Then the blob popped and a woman went limp, a woman that looked exactly like Ada Wong down to the curve of her jaw and the reach of her limbs. Leon’s breathe caught as the figure collapsed to the side, and then looked to the left where Helena joined him in viewing this terrible experiment.

On screen, the “woman” coughed, wheezing liquid as gas wafted from her body. The woman lifted her head. Leon stared into the face of Ada Wong, but not the eyes of Ada Wong. This was someone else. Something else. It wasn’t her.

A figure stepped into frame, a hand with a large ring on the thumb clenching into a fist. Then static overcame the footage and the tape ended. It ejected, Ada’s name staring Leon down.

Leon didn’t know what to think. He turned to Helena, voice low and dangerous as he asked, “Is this what you wanted to show me?” The demented experimentation of his friend? Was Ada being used in those experiments or was she still out there somewhere, alive and unharmed? Or was she— was she dead? Had Helena just shown Leon that the only other person in this world that could possibly give Leon some modicum of familiarity and belonging was dead too?

Oddly, Helena looked as confused as him. “No!” she cried out, shaking her head, surprisingly honest. “I thought—”

So she didn’t have a clue as to what was going on either. At least Leon was now pretty sure he didn’t have to worry about her turning on him just yet. Leon turned around to look back into the room at the tubes, searching for answers. The figures floating looked like they were encased in the same material as what had held Ada’s copy in the footage. Chrysalid was what it had been called, right? And it _was_ the C-Virus, Leon knew that for certain now. A chill ran through him to know he was seeing the same thing that had taken Chris from him. This couldn’t get any worse.

“What the hell did I just see, Ada?” he asked himself.

“So that woman, or whatever. You know her?”

Leon was surprised Helena wasn’t breaking down doors again to reach her Deborah. He grimaced and looked around the room for a way to get some progress. “Kind of, yeah,” he admitted. Arguably, he didn’t know Ada at all. Ada Wong wasn’t even her real name. 

He saw a control panel much like the ones that had opened the doors before. “You see a set of numbers for me?” 

“Two-oh-one,” Helena replied softly. Her tone was oddly somber. Leon plugged in the numbers and gripped Rot tight as he heard a door lift somewhere behind him. He turned around and saw Helena wasn’t going through the door. 

Her hands were shaking.

Leon steadied himself for Helena’s benefit and went in first, taking note of the floor that was visibly beneath their feet through the holes in the chainlink grating, more tubes holding more test subjects, entire pods just dispersed randomly on the ground as well. An infected dog snapped at them in a cage beneath their feet. Leon felt like he was in an art gallery of awful.

He navigated it quickly, putting down the few rotting infected he came across along the way. It annoyed part of him to be defending Helena while the woman was so obviously disturbed by what she was seeing, but the other part of him— the part that was still valiantly clinging to anger to keep himself going— relished the opportunity to participate in the mindless extermination of monsters. It helped keep his mind off the reality he was ignoring. The reality that Ada could be dead too.

They left the area that Leon still couldn’t brush aside as being anything but a gallery and into a huge industrial area. The ceiling and floor stretched above and below and the whole place went on forever, scaffolding hugging the sides with lift equipment hung between levels. Leon had no idea what any of this was for, but he was again baffled by the huge facilities that could exist beneath such quiet towns unnoticed. It made him wonder just who was operating this place and how tightly they had controlled Tall Oaks before it had all gone to hell. Did Neo-Umbrella own the Chief of Police like in Raccoon City? Or was it even deeper of a criminal web than Leon could imagine? 

As he looked around the area, summarized what he had seen and the demonstrations of technological and biological advancement, and theorized that this could even have been a genuine assassination attempt on the president, Leon was worried that realize Neo-Umbrella’s reach had to extend much further than just the local government.

His gaze was then drawn to Helena herself. She claimed she had a role in this. If United States Secret Service had been compromised…

Leon shuddered to consider it, unable to forget the horrible things people with power were capable of, whether or not they were even the good guys. He couldn’t afford to waste time thinking of worse case scenarios, and thinking had always proven to be the death of him. “Let’s move,” he told Helena, not commenting on the extension area itself. There were only a few rudimentary infected as far as he could tell, and it wasn’t nearly as terrifying to face something to “normal” in such a small scale, especially compared to what Leon had seen in those tubes and what he’d seen on that tape. Even as these infected showed higher levels of function, side stepping out of Leon’s shot and darting forward without warning, Leon knew he would take what were apparently C-virus zombies over something like the Plaga any day. Intelligent monsters were above Leon’s sanity pay grade.

At the end of the rampart they were on was what could only be a garbage chute— or a body chute, whichever Leon was morbid enough to consider. It didn’t matter to him in the end, and apparently not Helena either, who helped him lift the cover and promptly slide herself down the chute first, no questions asked. Leon admired her enthusiasm and distantly recalled Ashley’s trepidation to drop down a garbage chute just like this. He swung himself into the dark maw of disease and waste and plummeted, shutting his eyes and feeling a moment of peace before bracing for impact.

The ground came fast— Leon hit boots first and caught himself on the floor, standing fluidly and bringing Rot up to check the room they’d found themselves in.

A cave.

Why the actual fuck did he keep ending up in these ridiculous fucking caves? “Do you have any idea how lucky I am that I haven’t died from pneumonia?” he asked Helena dryly, who was picking herself up off the ground and dusting the muck from the seat of her pants. “I’ve got to be some sort of medical miracle for how often I end up in these mold infested caves and yet have never gotten sick.”

Helena gave him a look and Leon shrugged it off. “I’d say you’ll get used to this sort of thing, but I’m kinda hoping that this’ll be the last of the outbreaks.” As if, but Leon needed to practice the silver lining mentality like Adam had. 

Helena scoffed. “You some sort of explorer?” 

“Hardly,” Leon replied as he moved inwards, glancing up at the portable acetylene gas lamp that hung in the far corner, showing him that cave tunnel that was braced by planks, meaning this was some sort of mine shaft. “The bastards who use these viruses know exactly what their aesthetic should be as villains— caves and scary buildings, maybe the occasional castle. I’m not about to look for adventure when it’s my day job, featuring twice the bullshit Indian Jones has to put up with.”

Helena let out a soft noise that could’ve been a laugh. “Isn’t Batman in a cave?”

Leon made a face. “I didn’t read comics.”

“What?” She sounded surprised. “You were a kid in the seventies, right? Or close to that? Every kid read comic books in the eighties.”

Not every kid spent their timeout in a basement freezer. Leon didn’t answer her, unable to say anything that wouldn’t pop open that unfortunate can of worms. “We need to keep moving. You said we were running out of time, right? As far as I’m concerned, I’ve failed my mission. All we’ve got left is yours.”

Helena was quiet for a moment. “… Right.”

Leon nodded. “I’ll lead the way.”

“Okay,” Helena agreed. “On you.”

Leon nearly fucking tripped. 

There was a vase on the ground— a stupid thing to be down here, really, and he wasn’t sure who the hell had been meaning to plant flowers or make lemonade, but it still didn’t excuse the vase. It was right in the light as well, meaning Leon really should have seen it before, he had no fucking excuse, it was just—

It was like he’d heard the voice of a ghost.

Leon grit his teeth, hoping Helena didn’t pass him and see how pale he’d become. He wanted to admonish her, tell her to never say that ever again, but what good would it do? Chris was gone. There was no point in pretending he’d come back and say the words Leon was desperate to see fall from his lips one last time. Leon was only torturing himself in censoring others. He should just accept her words and bear the pain.

“Yeah,” he whispered, not even intending for Helena to hear him. “On me.” He moved forward, focusing in the path ahead. The are was dark, those lamps few and far between, with rope hanging from the cavern ceiling of the shafts. He took a deep breath and kept his eyes ahead, needing something to think about that wasn’t Chris. “Why can’t you fill me in yet?”

“Because you probably won’t believe me,” Helena told him like it was obvious. “That’s why I have to show you. And when I do, you’ll have all the answers and proof you need.”

Leon glared at her tiredly from over his shoulder. “If you knew half of what I’ve seen, you wouldn’t even bother considering what I will and will not believe.”

“You have a habit of seeing the impossible, Leon?” she shot back.

“I’ve seen things worse than the worst nightmare you’ve ever had— yes, I have a habit of seeing the impossible.” He hated being underestimated; Leon hadn’t survived this long just to be belittled by a woman who hadn’t seen a lick of combat. “I’m not like the people you’ve met in SS,” he told her. “I’m not a normal soldier.”

“I know that,” she huffed. “It’s not like anyone else in the country could walk into the president’s office unannounced that wasn’t _someone_.”

She had him there— Adam had never been strict with Leon, preferring for Leon to come to him wherever and whenever Leon needed him. It wasn’t exactly the average relationship between employer and employee, especially when the employer was the Commander in Chief. Leon grimaced, wishing he’d been more careful. He could have been giving himself away— could have been making himself a target. 

“Just don’t think for a second you know who I actually am,” he said as he caught sight of inky black water stretching in front of them. So the cave system was partially underwater— _fantastic,_ absolute sarcasm intended. He huffed and really wondered why he didn’t have pneumonia. “Be sure to shuffle your feet,” he warned Helena. “You don’t want to step in a deep hole and break your ankle. Take it slow.”

“Got it.”

He sure fucking hoped she did. Leon waded into the water, fighting back a shiver. The water was cold, and yet there was the faint trill of insect life that would normally be associated with a bog or a swamp. Plants grew from the shallow depths, defying the odds. Apparently there was enough air down here to support such a small ecosystem. Leon would be impressed if he wasn’t so disgusted by how slippery everything was beneath the tread of his boots.

The water went on for a while, the cavern walls giving away to stone architecture that seemed more like an aqueduct before turning back into rudimentary carved stone again. He had no idea why this was under Tall Oaks— this entire area didn’t make any sense, especially when he considered Neo-Umbrella dumping waste or bodies down here. And with everything Neo-Umbrella was apparently doing—

Fuck, Leon had so many questions.

“So back at that lab,” he began cautiously. “That tape.”

“With your friend in it? What’s the story on her anyways?”

Leon scowled to himself. “Look, if you want answers, you should be prepared to give a couple yourself.” She always answered his questions with mystery or more questions. He expected her to dig her heels in, continue being the stubborn woman she’d proven to be, except—

“You’re right. That’s only fair, I guess.”

Jesus fuck.

Leon was too tired and too angry to feel good about winning. If anything, he felt _worse_ by the defeated tone in her voice. What had she expected? They weren’t friends, they weren’t even technically partners, too much rank between the two of them, too far distanced across the totem poles. They didn’t know a god damn thing about each other— Leon didn’t owe her anything.

Leon waded out of the waters, not liking how Helena went quiet. He also didn’t like the bright light he saw ahead, far brother than a gasp lamp, and the opening in front of them that looked like a wall blown inwards by some sort of explosion. It led back into a manmade structure of a tunnel, the walls held up by carved stone, more stone like a road beneath their feet. Wooden crates lined the walls, but they appeared empty and old. There were pillars and even a few tables holding more pottery. Leon frowned at their surroundings, wondering if this was some kind of old civilization beneath Tall Oak’s feet, when he heard a rasping groan.

Oh great— there were infected down here with them. 

Leon rounded a corner, slipping through an open doorway, and swiftly brought Rot up, slamming a bullet into the head of a shambling corpse. The zombie went down and that was it. The creature was too decayed to be able to resist point blank projectiles. It felt too easy, almost careless, which tore Leon between surmising they either weren’t meant to be here and there weren’t traps to keep them from advancing in the first place, or that this was absolutely a trap and they were being lulled into a false sense of security. The darkness of the tunnel that was immediately no better than an old mine shaft didn’t help.

“Fucking hate this,” he grumbled, mostly to himself. “At least Chris would be cracking jokes.”

“Who’s Chris?” Helena’s question startled him. “Is that the woman in the video?”

Leon cut his chin, frustrated. “You ready to answer some questions of mine too or are you just gonna keep digging and hope you don’t hit a gas line?”

There was a moment of silence, then a begrudging apology. Apparently Leon wouldn’t be getting those answers after all. He wanted to get angry with Helena for a moment when he heard the low roar of cascading falls and felt a cool breeze ahead. Leon’s eyes went wide before he darted forward, throwing caution to the wind as he saw an iron spire gate and a woman in the next room, the limp body laid across a wooden board with a waterfall just behind. Leon shoved open the gate and ran in, giving Helena a glance inside. She screamed, “Deborah!” and Leon grimaced, hoping with twice the voracity that the woman was alive now that Leon knew exactly who this was. Maybe Deborah had some answers of her own, if Leon was lucky.

Helena was gone like a shot, so Leon leaped across a gap after her, the ground dropping away between the gate and the stone platform that made a circle around the waterfall, a hole in the center allowing the water to drop even further below. The table Deborah was on appeared to be some kind of alter, making Leon’s gut twist unpleasantly. Helena reached Deborah first and pulled the woman into her arms, letting Leon see her face and noticing with startled emotion that the resemblance was uncanny.

Oh jesus— please tell Leon this wasn’t Helena’s sister. Please tell Leon Helena’s sister wasn’t _dead._

“Deborah!” Helena pleased, shaking the woman’s body that was dressed in only a light nightgown. “Can you hear me?! Deborah, please—”

The woman’s head turned to face Helena, her gentle features being graced with the light of the gas lamps. Leon stood back, watching the two with paranoia, knowing that, despite his best wishes, things were hardly ever this clean. Deborah’s eyes widened slightly as she slurred, “Helena?” A weak arm raised into the air and Helena sobbed in relief, scooping the other woman up into her arms and holding her like a vice.

Leon turned away with the intention of giving them some sort of privacy, peering dow the tunnel they’d just left, wondering if Deborah was going to be able to walk or if—

There was a pained gasp suddenly, and Leon looked back to see Deborah clutching her head. Wheezing moans left her and Leon’s heart sunk as Helena clung to her sister, trying to get her attention again. The smart thing to do would be to put a bullet in Deborah now, but if Helena—

“Okay,” Leon cut in, seeing a ticking time bomb and knowing it was going to be up to him to defuse it. “Enough with the mystery. What the hell is going on here?!” Why was this woman down here showing signs of infection? Why was Helena pinning her actions on the woman that was likely family? And why was this entire area starting to look like a temple for sacrifice?

“Let’s just get her out of here,” Helena said, putting an arm around Deborah’s waist who put her arm over Helena’s shoulder. Leon was reminded of Jessica and her father back at the university in the most twisted way. “Then I’ll tell you everything,” Helena said, pleading with Leon with her brown eyes. “I promise.”

Leon didn’t like this. He didn’t like this one fucking bit.

“I don’t know which way to go,” he admitted, glancing around and trying to think. “But— if I remember correctly, places like these always have more than one way in and out. The people that built these kinds of things weren’t looking to get trapped. Since we came from above, maybe we’ll find something below.”

Helena hoisted Deborah onto her shoulders and gave Leon another one of her looks. “You some kind of historian?”

Leon turned away. “I read a lot of books as a kid,” was all he told her, scanning the strange circle they were atop and feeling relieved when he saw what looked like a wood and rope bridge that disappeared below. “There— follow me.” He went across the bridge first, peering down with his headlamp and feeling some measure of success to see more bridges beneath them, swinging further and further below, their most viable option out of here. Helena was fast despite the weight across her back, so Leon didn’t have an issue with darting ahead, checking the area, and feeling confident Helena would make it through. He heard Helena called Deborah “sis” at one point and hated to know he’d been right. Helena and Deborah were siblings. That was probably the second best person to keep hostage to control someone else.

Again, there was little standing between them and their escape, and the fact that they’d actually found Deborah made Leon absolutely certain this was a trap. Deborah let out soft, strangled noises of agony that rang in Leon’s ears, familiar and alarming. He didn’t know how to tell Helena that her sister was likely infected. He didn’t know how he was going to tell Helena that they were going to have to put Deborah down lest they risk spreading the infection further than Tall Oaks. He didn’t know how he was going to put a bullet in Deborah without Helena actually _killing_ him for it.

The bridges swayed dangerously and the road creaked, so Leon was almost relieved when they reached the bottom of the large shaft of stone. He scanned the area for the next stage of escape, thoughts racing a mile a minute, when he suddenly heard the most tortured sound of pain from Deborah yet— an honest wail, the young woman’s voice breaking painfully. He heard Helena falter and plead with her sister, but didn’t turn around. He almost didn’t want to see it. He didn’t want to witness the death of yet another innocent and the crushing despair in Helena that would follow. He just— he really, really didn’t want that memory amongst all the others.

Then there was fire, and Leon turned on his heel, yanking Helena away from her burning sister. Deborah screamed in agony as Leon struggled to keep Helena back, knowing there was nothing they could do for her. Choking sobs bubbled from Deborah’s lips as the fire quickly quenched itself, a thick casing enveloping the woman that had had all her features burned away. Deborah became encased in a cocoon, one arm curled around her stomach, the other reaching for Helena, a silent effigy of a hopeless plea for aid.

Helena yanked herself from Leon’s grip and dropped to her knees in front of her sister. “No,” she choked out, hands in the air in front of the cocoon, useless, afraid to touch. “No, no, this can’t be happening!” As her shaking hands finally reached out and touched the casing, the cocoon cracked. Leon remembered the reports from Edonia. He knew what was coming.

As Helena watched in horror the protruding mass of flesh that was breaking through the cracks of the cocoon, Leon pulled out Rot and readied himself for the fight, sending a silent prayer to Chris, asking for the man to stay with him during this ordeal. Like a switch, Deborah had gone from survivor to monster. The thing that rose from the cocoon was was wrapped in some sort of wet substance, like the red flesh of a womb. A limb pushed at the lining, and Helena, in her shock, reached out as well, reaching for her sister, even though her sister was already gone.

Then the sloppy figure was thrown back, an arrow striking directly where the eyes would be from behind. Helena cried out and ran for the creature that had been flung back while Leon turned around, eyes searching for who had made the shot— searching for who was watching them. A figure approached and Rot was up again like lightning, Leon’s expression hardened. he readied himself to make the shot, figuring the chances of an ally being down here with them were slim to none.

From the mist strode Ada Wong, proving that Leon was bad at math when it came to the odds. “Ada!” he exclaimed, wondering if it was actually her. He heard a gasp from Helena as Ada gave him one of her unreadable smiles.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” she simpered, her words like a slap across Leon’s face. 

There was a click to Leon’s left, and he looked to see Helena stomp forward, her gun up and pointed at Ada. Leon looked back to Ada, silently asking if she could handle this or if she wanted Leon to interfere. Helena was still new to all of this, for all she knew, Ada had just killed Deborah, and Leon still didn’t even know if this was actually _Ada_ , but—

Leon reached out, gently lowering the muzzle of Helena’s gun with his hand. He didn’t know what was going on, but he knew they couldn’t afford to shoot first and leave their questions for later in this situation. Ada had answers. Ada _always_ had answers.

Helena fought the lowering of the gun, but only for a few moments, before she let her arms drop and bowed her head with palpable grief. She dropped herself slowly to one knee, stifling sobs. Leon turned away to give her privacy. “Ada, what the hell is going on here?”

“It’s complicated,” she told him, and fuck that, when was it not complicated? He was going to ask further when the ceiling above began to rumble, dirt rubble from above. Was the ceiling collapsing? Could Leon never catch a fucking break? “But this isn’t the time or the place,” Ada told him briskly. “These walkways won’t hold. We need to get to the lower levels!”

Leon was going to agree when Helena suddenly pulled away from him, dropping at the body of her sister. She cried out something awful, an apology for something that wasn’t her fault, but Leon couldn’t hear it over the sudden roaring of his pulse in his ears when he saw the way Deborah’s skin had glazed over and was beginning to move beneath the surface. Deborah was gray and peeling, skin breaking away to reveal muscle beneath— she was turning. 

“Helena!” Leon shouted urgently as Deborah’s head dropped back the her eyes open to reveal whites. “Get away from her!” His warning came almost too late as blood and limbs broke from Deborah’s back and neck, stretching out and scraping across the ground like Saddler’s final, spidery form. Leon darted forward, grabbing Helena by the arm and desperately pulling her out of the way as the newborn creature lifted itself onto its shaky, human legs, five tentacles whipping in the air with infantile clumsiness, twisted in human hair at the base, sharp talons of bone protruding from the meat of the tentacles.

“Stop!” Helena cried out, pulling desperately away from Leon and running for the monster again that bore the face of her dead sister. “Don’t shoot, please!” She reached the infected only for human arms to shove her away, the monster standing and whipping the tentacles through the air like wrecking balls. Leon wasn’t ready for it— more preoccupied with getting Helena away than keeping himself safe— and was hit solidly in the chest, thrown through the air and hitting the ground hard with a cry. His body ached, the pain already more than he could stomach with the exhaustion and the toll of the night. As he struggled to his feet, he saw a flash of red— Ada was suddenly in front of him, firing her arrows like they could actually do something, but putting herself between the monster and Leon while he recovered. 

Hell of a woman.

Leon struggled to his feet and then struggled to figure out a plan.

“I’ve never seen a final stage like this,” Ada told him, her focus on keeping the infected back. “They’re smart— smarter than anything I’ve seen before.”

“You always did hate Krauser, but I’m frankly hurt.” Leon took a step back, his hand shaking around Rot, but not letting himself hesitate. “The ends of those tentacles are glowing.”

Deborah was advancing slowly on human legs, giving Ada plenty of time to actually _look_ and see the pulsating ends of each tentacle, the golden glow that they knew so well to be a weak point. “Good call.”

Leon stood at Ada’s side and they fire in unison, taking down half of the slapping limbs each before the infected could get to close. The creature shrieked as Rot popped the last quivering end, the limbs thrashing wildly with the pain of a wounded animal. Leon almost felt victorious until he saw one of those limbs hit one of the columns that held this place up. “Oh god fucking damn—”

He couldn’t finished before the column was shattered and the ground collapsed beneath their feet, sending all four of them plummeting below. Leon had lost sight of Helena right as Deborah had turned, but now he could see her, at the other end of more of these wooden bridges. He felt relief for only a few seconds as Helena scrambled to her feet and screamed for her dead sister, begging to know where she was. 

“Not exactly the smartest partner you’ve ever had,” Ada huffed as she landed gracefully on the wood beside him. 

“She’s _grieving,_ ” Leon reminded Ada as he reloaded Rot, finding comfort in the familiar movements as he looked for a way down. “There— that rope. If we can swing across, we can get to Helena and climb the stairs.” He was already moving, trusting on Ada to keep up. There was a large gap that Leon knew even he couldn’t make, so he went down on a knee at the ledge and waited for Ada to make the jump with his help. Time was off the essence— and yet Ada didn’t move, staring at him. Leon grit his teeth. “You really wanna sit and chat and the average intelligence of the people I work with?”

“Of course not,” she said cooly. “I’d rather chat about why you’re here rather than in Edonia with Nivans looking for _him._ ” Then she was running for Leon, barely giving him a breath to catch her foot and throw her up into the air. Ada grabbed the rope and let it swing, momentum bringing her back close enough for Leon to leap and grab the lower half of the rope as well. They swung across the gap and landed on their feet, Leon not moving an inch as Ada’s words continued to send knives into his chest.

Then there was a glint of something in the air— he raised his hand on instinct and caught the object before it could hit him in the head. He looked down in his open palm and saw— “A ring?” He tucked it away immediately, realizing it was too fragile to risk leaving on his person freely.

“Don’t get any ideas,” Ada drawled as she jogged past him, slinging another arrow into her crossbow. And really? A fucking crossbow? She was going to insult his partners’ collective intelligence and carry a _crossbow?_ “It’ll make sense later— let’s hurry.”

Leon forced his feet to move, clammy with her question. Leon knew why he wasn’t in Edonia— he wasn't the kind of person to be brave enough to face down that much hurt. He couldn’t keep losing hope so violently. It wasn’t his fault and he wasn’t wrong for not being there. Ada— Ada was the _last_ person to judge him. 

Leon steeled his jaw and told himself he was where he was supposed to be— letting more civilians die, how noble— and followed. 

Ada led him down level after level, the walls still trembling and rubble still falling around their heads. Leon just kept his eyes ahead, ignoring the tremble of his hands at the accusations and trying to remind himself he was fighting a monster, not himself.

There was another gap in the way down, the floor looking a little closer, but no sight of Helena again. More rope hung from above, so Leon took a deep breath and tried to found comfort in the repetition. He went down on the same knee and braced himself for more harsh words from Ada, but she only gave him a mysterious smile and ran for him, letting Leon launch her into the air again. Leon breathed shakily and jumped for the rope when it was in reach, feeling suspended in the air as he fought for bare skin to make contact with course fiber, only to see, out of the corner of his eye, a pale figure soaring through the air towards him.

At the last second, Leon squeezed his eyes shut and braced for impact. 

The infected hit him and Ada hard, Leon plummeting to the ground below and landing badly on his shoulder on the carved stone of the bottom level. He groaned and spat blood from where he’d bit his tongue, lifting himself to his feet with great effort, muscle screaming in protest, begging him to stay down and make sure nothing was broken, stay down and hide— an instinct Leon was well trained in ignoring now. As Leon got back to his feet and looked up in time to see the infected Deborah drop down in front of him, he was reminded of how Chris always berated him for getting lost in his head and losing sight of the enemy— Leon was paying the price to this day.

“Watch out, you two,” he warned as he lifted Rot and trained his sights on the infected, looking again for those weak points. “She’s strong.”

Ada hummed softly over comms— how the fuck had she gotten onto his line? “Watch out for yourself.”

Leon ignored her, firing a perfect shot into the infected’s human skull, and scowling as the tentacles burst forth again, five in all, framing the body like a painting. Helena dropped down in front of him, failing to fire, which Leon expected. “Ada!” he shouted, advancing slowly on the infected, shooting the squirming ends of the tentacles that were glowing again. “It’s you and me!”

“You should put her down,” Ada told Helena coldly as she supported Leon, the two of them easily taking out the weak points and sending the infected writhing. “If you have any sympathy for her, you’d let her die.”

Helena ignored them, scrambling forward as the monster dropped to the floor, kicking and twisting as the virus rebelled inside her. “Deborah, please!” Helena begged, pulling at her sister’s twisted body like she could tear the infection from her bones. “You have to stop—!”

The infected shoved Helena away again, throwing her across the room, Leon cursing under his breath. He ducked low as tentacles reemerged and spun like the blades of a helicopter, Leon flattening himself to the ground to avoid certain death. The infected launched itself away, landing high on the wall surrounding them, the human body moving sultrily and slowly before suddenly leaping high, twisting, right for Leon.

Leon threw himself out of the way, rolling across the ground and coming back up shooting, aiming for the glowing points and wondering how much longer this would go on. By his count, he had three clips left tucked away his jacket that was heavier than he would like. Ada couldn’t just keep making arrows appear out of thin air, and Helena was useless. With the way this was looking and how the infected was failing to slow even as the weak points were decimated, Leon wasn’t sure they’d make it out of this on without some sort of divine intervention. 

“Leon, move!”

Lost in his head again, Leon lunged to the side and barely avoided the infected’s reach again, the creature seeming to show some terrible preference for taking him out first. He skidded across the stone as he darted out of the way, only to see one of the tentacles reaching for him with the glow exposed. Leon yanked his knife out, letting the tentacle catch him, but bracing for it and holding tight with one arm so the other could slam the knife into the exposed meat of the limb. The infected _screamed_ and Leon ran from it, covering his ears and his head as he fought to get to a safe distance around the falling rubble. Then Helena screamed, and Leon looked back in time to see the infected crawl atop Helena, only for the tentacles to thrash and slam the ground, the ground collapsing beneath their feet once more.

Leon had been stupid to think this was as low as they could get.

He fell again, landing badly on his shoulder, arms up around his skull to keep his brains from cracking open and spilling out. There was a ringing in his ears that kept him on the ground for a second too long, breathing raggedly and trying to recollect. He was alive and he needed to fight, alive and needed to fight, every part of him that wanted to run and hide was _wrong._ He was tired of falling, his stomach churning at the thought of dropping one more time, but that didn’t mean he could give up. Leon moved his arms from his head and tried to lift himself from the ground, feeling something snap inside his side at the movement. He cried out, more blood bursting across his lips— but not from his tongue. 

Then there was a voice in his ear— the voice of a ghost.

_”Eyes up, Officer Kennedy!”_

There was a needle in Leon’s neck and he lashed out, fearing the Plaga, but only seeing Ada above him with a medical hypo in her hand. The fear in her eyes was the most emotion he’d seen from her ever. “Get up,” she told him, grabbing at his jacket and pulling him to his feet. “You’re not dead yet, so get up.” Had Ada thought he was dead for a moment? Leon staggered his feet and looked up to see—

Oh, Helena. 

“I’m warning you!” Helena shouted, her voice cracking at the edges with heartbreak, her gun aimed at the monster that had once been her sister. “Don’t you come any closer!” Helena was standing between the monster and Leon— Helena was protecting _Leon._ “Deborah, stop it! This isn’t like you!”

Well now Leon owed it to her to get back up.

“Don’t tell me you’re still crying,” Ada huffed as she took a step back from Leon once he was standing. “She’s trying to kill you!”

“I know that!” Helena cried out. “I know, I know, I just—”

Leon strode past her, steady now that the adrenaline was coursing through his veins again, lining up Rot and making the shot between the infected’s eyes before Helena would have to make the difficult decision. “Stay with me, Helena,” he pleaded of her gently. “I need you to help me.”

Helena looked to him with despair in her brown eyes. Then she took a step back, out of his way. Leon decided that was good enough and faced the infected down. “Just a few more shots,” he said. “And then it’s done— all the pain will be over.”

The infected staggered towards him, tentacles bursting from the back again— and then from the head. The face of Deborah was officially gone and Leon swallowed at the sight of the only pulsing light left coming from what had once been the face of Helena’s sister. “Just a few more shots,” he whispered, a promise. “A few more shots and it’ll all be over.”

His finger flexed over the trigger.

Helena suddenly passed him, shotgun up, a calamitous bang echoing in Leon’s ears as she fired two shells into the infected’s light.

It was like a switch had been flicked _off_ — one moment, the infected was standing and ready to go for the throats, and the next, Helena was making the shot, putting Deborah down. The pale body took a few stumbled steps back, and then dropped, lifeless. Helena stared down at the body of her sister, shoulders trembling with stifled emotion. “No more tears,” he heard Helena swear to herself. “Not until I avenge her death.” Helena lifted her head and looked back at Leon, expression grim-set and harrowed. “I’m going to make him pay for this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to say thank you so much for all the nice comments and support!!!!! I don't respond cause I'm the worst ;u; just know I read every single last one of them and I love you all <3 thank you


	5. Chapter 4 Pt. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the second half of that fated chapter my bad fr

Leon saw and heard the anguish in Helena and swallowed hard, seeing so much of who he was now reflected in her eyes. “Tell me what happened,” he prompted gently now that he knew exactly who Helena had been fighting to save. God— _he should have moved faster._ He should have done as Helena asked. “I’ll help you bring down whoever did this to you and this city.” He wouldn’t stop until the people responsible were dead. “Tell me who did this to you.”

Helena looked to him, stubbornly blinking back tears, and said the last name Leon expected. “It was Director Simmons.”

He—

What?

Leon felt like he was going to collapse and put a foot back to catch himself, staring at Helena and trying to hear that name again. Director Simmons— 

“Derek Simmons?” he asked, his voice feeble. “That’s not— no. No, he couldn’t—” Leon looked to Ada, desperate to see her deny this, but Ada’s expression was too seamless, too stony. Ada always had answers and her answer was the same as Helena’s. “Simmons,” he whispered, feeling cold all over as the shock settled in. Where—

“Where’s Sherry?”

Helena’s brow furrowed as Ada grimaced. “Sherry?” Helena repeated. “Leon, are you even listening to me? The director of DSO and god damn National Security Advisor is the one who did this!”

Leon didn’t look away from Ada, begging for her to answer him with the fragility of his voice. “Where’s Sherry?”

Ada turned to him, chin up. “As far as I know, Sherry isn’t anywhere. I don’t think she’s involved, Leon.”

The air gusted from his lungs and he felt like he could collapse all over again. Leon took another step away, head in his hands, trembling violently. He heard the women conversing over the dull roaring of the blood in his veins and left them too it. Sherry wasn’t involved— Ada said Sherry wasn’t in the middle of any of this. Leon could only trust her words and pray it was true. “I’m sorry,” he gasped, gulping down air, struggling to recover from how his heart had stopped for those few horrible seconds. “I’m so sorry, I—”

“Director Simmons has your daughter?” Helena asked him, her own expression a kind of panicked.

“Not really his daughter,” Ada huffed.

“Ada says he doesn’t, so he doesn’t,” Leon told Helena, refusing to linger on this a moment longer now that he was telling himself he believed this to be true. His hand was clammy around Rot and he forced his fingers to relax, having clutching too tightly infighting off the hysteria. “Tell me what happened— what Simmons did.”

Helena watched him with such concern that it hurt. But she nodded, determined, likely thinking only of avenging her sister. “He held Deborah over my head,” she said. “Told me if I didn’t help him, then he’d kill her. So I did. I helped Simmons breach the president’s security.” She laid a hand over her chest as she said this, taking full responsibility for something that—

That honestly wasn’t her fault. Not entirely. Everyone had someone they’d burn the world. Simmons had just been cruel enough to use that person against Helena. As much as Leon wanted to scream at her for her irresponsibility, her inability to trust their people and get help, as much as he wanted to shake her and make her understand that Leon would never ever recover from putting a bullet in the head of the only family he had left, he knew he couldn’t blame her. Not really. Not in the way that would bring him peace.

“That sounds like Simmons alright,” Ada murmured, putting a hand on her hip, too nonchalant for what was being revealed.

Leon shook his head, letting his hands drop through the air, helpless. “Why the hell would he do all this?” he asked in quiet defeat. “He had it all— power. Prestige. He had Adam listening to his every word. He had me following his every order.” Simmons—

Simmons had officially taken nearly _everything_ from Leon now. And if Simmons was behind the C-virus, then Chris—

Leon suddenly couldn’t breathe again. Oh god, _Simmons had taken everything._

Leon felt like his lungs were collapsing. “Why did he do this?”

Ada sighed. “Long story.”

Leon looked to her, wanting to know if he would have to beg for answers from her as usual. A sudden ring interrupted his thoughts, Ada looking down at her clothes and then pulling a phone from her pocket— or at least something that sounded like a phone— the artificial light of the strange cube hurting Leon’s eyes in the darkness of the underground. “We’re up against the people who really run this country.” She began to walk, rounding Leon like a predator circling prey. Leon was too fucked up right now to handle her tricks. “In a very dangerous game, and if you don’t play your hand right…”

She didn’t finish her sentence, looking back at Leon and Helena with a smirk that had no place being on her face with everything that was happening. Then Ada brought out her precious grappling gun, winked at Helena, and fired above, her lithe frame yanked into the air, making her usual grand upwards escape. Leon watched her go, wishing she would stop treating him like he meant something to her only when she thought he wasn’t looking. Because right now, Leon wasn’t sure how he was still standing.

There was another ring— _his _phone. He pulled it out, looking down at the screen, feeling nothing at seeing Hannigan’s face. “Leon,” she said, voice stiff. “Where are you?”__

__“Is Simmons there?” he asked, terrified she could be next. Simmons had already taken everything Leon kept close, but the man was smart and likely knew Leon still had a few open woulds he could push a cigarette into._ _

__Hannigan set her jaw. “Yes.”_ _

__God— “Hannigan, you need to be careful,” he stressed, reaching for the screen, wishing he could pull Hannigan through to his side, where she was safe and out of the reach of that sick bastard. “I think he’s the one who did all—”_ _

__“Did I hear my name?”_ _

__That gravely drawl had always been chalk on a board to Leon’s ears— now it was outright poison._ _

__Simmons stepped into view, his face and body filling Leon’s sight, Leon’s stomach turning over at the very glint of his eyes. He thought of the last moment he’d share with Sherry, that cold night returning from Spain, spinning in the living room with his daughter in his arms for the last time in his life, and how Simmons piercing gaze had been on him the entire time. Leon thought of Chris, the man who had been manipulated and used and still loved Leon despite the terrible things Leon had done, the man who had never given up the fight for the innocent and who had died trying to save just one more. And Leon thought of Adam, the only father figure Leon had ever had, reaching out a steady hand to Leon in his darkest moment and pulling him from the depths of a trauma so deep that it would cripple the strongest of anyone._ _

__Leon remembered them all and felt that hatred burgeoning like fire in his throat— and he _welcomed_ it._ _

__“The president spoke highly of you, Agent Kennedy.”_ _

__Oh, so this is how they were playing it? “You’ve known me longer than I’ve known Adam,” Leon bit out. “… But likewise. He told me you’ve been a _friend_ for nearly thirty years.”_ _

__“Tell me,” Simmons almost purred. “Is it true you were the only ones present at the time of his death?”_ _

__Leon clenched the phone a little too tight as his upper lip curled. He didn’t like where this was going. “What are you saying?”_ _

__“Well,” Simmons drawled. “You must be aware that you are both suspects in this attack?”_ _

__“What?!” Helena demanded sharply, which Simmons likely enjoyed._ _

__“Agent Harper, at the time of the attack you had abandoned your post, leaving the president vulnerable. You must admit such behavior is suspicious.”_ _

__“You son of a bitch— you’re the one who planned all this!”_ _

__Leon felt for the woman, he really did, but he knew that at this point there was nothing they could do but sit there and take it. Already Leon was formulating a plan, positive Ada still knew a lot more than she let on and that she likely had something on Simmons that could be useful._ _

__“With what evidence could you base such an outrageous accusation?” Simmons asked, sounding too damn comfortable with himself. “I am the National Security Advisor. It is my job to prevent terrorist attacks, not cause them.”_ _

__“You liar!”_ _

__“Helena!” Leon put an arm out to hold her back to let Simmons speak._ _

__“If the two of you feel so strongly about your innocence, then you should have no problems turning yourselves in.”_ _

__Simmons ended the call abruptly, leaving Leon and Helena in the dark. Leon cursed and closed the phone, wondering how far away Ada had gotten and where he needed to go next. It would make sense for him to go to the source of this, to the beginning of the C-virus, but he had a gut feeling Edonia wasn’t the place to be looking._ _

__“I’m gonna make him pay.”_ _

__Sounded like an empty threat from Leon’s perspective— they didn’t have nearly as many options as he would like. “Looks like things just went from bad to worse.” He heaved a sigh. Lucky for Helena, Leon operated at his best when he was at his lowest. “Alright.” He turned to Helena, mouth a thin, grim line. “You and I are in the same boat now. I’d say that officially makes us partners.” He cut his chin to the side, feeling sorry for her now that he said that aloud. “Like it or not.”_ _

__“Fine by me,” Helena almost snarled. “As long as you help me get to Simmons.” She paused, looking around, at the rubble surrounding them and the dead body of her infected sister. “… Does all of this belong to him? To Simmons?”_ _

__“Well with that lab of his sitting right on top of us? I’m gonna go out on a limb and say yes.” They needed a way out. Leon glanced around the area, deciding to go with his gut again since denying really did seem to make a total mess out of everything. His gut had told him not to trust Simons all the way from the beginning— he would almost think he was psychic if didn’t know any better. There was an opening to the far right of the huge, circular room, a stone archway with some dull, golden lighting down a hall. Leon headed for it, knowing it was their only viable option._ _

__“So this Ada,” Helena said as she followed him, sniffling a little, still recovering from her loss. “Can we trust her?”_ _

__Oh geez. “That’s— not an easy question to answer.”_ _

__“A little history there, huh?”_ _

__Leon grimaced as he kept moving, finally able to recognize what this entire pale was. The bleed of the grimy labs into stone into this— catacombs. That explained the withering infected they’d come across, even deep down here. He’d already seen that the C-virus could bring back people long dead, he just hadn’t thought the people could be _this fucking dead._ Jesus, the implications of that alone, the armies that Simmons could build—_ _

__Everything down here was just terrible, which was pretty fitting of his entire situation. Dank columns and corpses shoved into holes in the walls, weak fires to light the way with the constant echoing moan of some monster that was nearby enough to hear, but not close enough to shoot. Leon’s nerves were frayed and his thoughts were ceaseless, an endless cacophony of betrayal and his gut screaming at him, angry with himself for not having listened. He’d suffered his entire childhood to develop the very instinct he’d _ignored_ and now look what had come of his negligence— Tall Oaks was decimate and Simmons was trying to rule the world. Adam was dead. _Chris was dead._ And now Helena was paying the price too._ _

__Honestly, just how fucking worthless was Leon going to prove himself to be until someone finally put him down for good to save everyone else?_ _

__“Leon.”_ _

__Helena called his name and Leon looked back to see her pull an AEK-971 from the clutches of a corpse. That made total sense. Where else would they find an assault rifle other than in a coffin in a. catacomb under a mineshaft under a bio lab under a cathedral? For fuck’s sake._ _

__“Here.”_ _

__Helena held it out to him, surprising Leon. “I’ve got the shotgun,” she said, her tone subdued. Was giving Leon a fancy new toy her way of apologizing? “I’ll bet you’re trained for just about anything, right?” She tried to give him a smile that didn’t come anywhere near her eyes. “What Ada told me— she said Simmons took your daughter.”_ _

__Leon stared at her for a moment before taking the gun from her, checking it over, marveling over the lack of wear, and slung it over his shoulder. “Yeah,” he said, before turning ahead again. “He did.” Took Sherry from him more than once— and Leon had let him every single time. “That’s not what’s important— right now, we need to focus on clearing our names. We need to find where all of this started. Where Simmons fist created this virus so we can prove it wasn’t our doing.” He looked back at Helene again, willing her to understand. “We need to clear our names— got it?”_ _

__Helena nodded, looking as ready as she could. “Got it.” She darted forward like a fucking idiot, the ground sinking an inch beneath her feet, springing a trap. Leon almost rolled his eyes as he grabbed the waistband of her vest and yanked her onto the floor, both of them landing hard on their backs as rusted blades spun just inches from their faces._ _

__“Should’ve said a prayer back in the cathedral!” Leon griped, having to raise his voice to be heard over the singing of he metal. He could hear growling at their feet. “Why is it that the dead never stay dead?” Leon dared to crane his head up and shot at the infected crawling towards them, kicking at the teeth of one that got a little too close. The blades retracted, having decided they pass the test, and Leon rolled up onto his knee, firing a clean shot into the head of the zombie he’d kicked, enjoying the splatter of blood, letting the violence quell a minutia of his anger._ _

__“It’s crazy to think these traps even still work,” Helena muttered, probably a little sheepish at having sprung the trap Leon had spotted so easily._ _

__“Don’t beat yourself up,” he replied as he jogged through the catacombs. “I’ve basically got a good ten hours worth of training when it comes to archaic and cheesy traps. Which, granted, isn’t actually much, but it’s definitely more than the average agent has under their belt.”_ _

__“I guess I’m pretty lucky to have you as a partner, then.”_ _

__Leon didn’t dare look back, knowing that getting attached to her was a fucking death sentence. He just kept moving forward, laying deadly shots into the few infected that stumbled in their way, breathing slowly and carefully with every bullet that left Rot. Eventually, they reached something that Leon always interpreted as progress— a door. A huge one, too, always with some sort of intricate carving and a special key required to gain access. There was one just like that in front of them, over twice his height and made of shining metal to contrast with the decrepit underground of the catacombs, snakes twisting as the centerpiece with words carved into the side._ _

__After shoving his bad shoulder into the door with no luck, Leon resigned himself to having to solve another fucking puzzle. “There’s writing on this door,” he told Helena. “Set forth evidence of kith and kin.”_ _

__“Kith and kin?” Helena repeated incredulously. “Simmons’s family tree? I-I didn’t bring any evidence, did you?”_ _

__Leon hadn’t— but he was pretty sure someone else had. Someone that always looked out for him whether she wanted to admit it or not. Leon tucked his fingers into his inner jacket pocket, pulling the ring from inside the folds. “Ada gave this to me,” he explained softly, looking the ring over, wondering about the kinds of families that treated such small things with such significance. His parents never cared about anything this much— they especially hadn’t cared enough about him to bother passing an heirloom. He wondered if even Simmons had had parents that loved him._ _

__He placed the ring into the center of the twisting snakes, taking a step back and feeling satisfaction as the gears inside audibly turned, the ornate metal twisting turning like a dial. “Bingo,” he said to himself. “Thanks for the gift, Ada.” The dial went from pointing east and west to north and south, a click sounding in the depths of the mechanism before the doors slowly pulled open, revealing water and a waterfall._ _

__“Looks like we gotta get our feet wet,” he observed grimly._ _

__Helena looked anxious. “It’s not the water I’m worried about.”_ _

__Leon shook himself, trying to keep his spirits up. “Are we ever gonna get outta here?” Helena asked him hopelessly. Leon glanced to her and realized he wasn’t the only one who needed to keep his morale up. He struggled to come up with something to keep her mind off of how deep down they were and how little progress they’d actually made._ _

__“You wanna hear about the time I blew up a crocodile the size of a garbage truck?”_ _

__Helena made the most baffled noise Leon had ever heard from another human being. “A _what?_ ”_ _

__Thank god that had worked. Leon trudged down into the water first, fighting back the shivers of cold. “A crocodile the size of a garbage truck,” he said again. “Or maybe it was an alligator— not actually sure myself, I’m no biologist. It was in the sewers of Raccoon City. The thing was so knocked up on the T-Virus that tore through walls just to get to its food. The poor bastard made the biggest mistake of its life— it had thought it could make its next meal of me.”_ _

__Helena walked beside him, a small smile tugging on her lips, this one actually real. “How’d you beat it?”_ _

__“I ran as fast as I could,” Leon admitted, knowing it didn’t sound as cool as he’d made it out to be. “Got to a gas pipe and got out of the way. Waited for it to chomp down on the thing and then blew his head off— literally.” He shrugged. "It was pretty okay, as far as monster kills go.”_ _

__“What, is there some sort of competition?” Helena asked as they kept moving. There was an opening ahead of them as the water started to get as high as their waists. “Who’s got the best kill that you know of?”_ _

__Leon pursed his lips, actually thinking about that one. “… An old friend,” he finally settled on, thinking of Chris and fighting down the pain. “He killed this shark in the Arklay Mountains— T-Virus again. The thing was trying to make lunch outta him. He used his head, worked fast, and left the thing stranded to die just after punching it in the face.” Leon shrugged again. “Maybe it isn’t the flashiest method out there, but it was a terrifying moment for him that he still overcame. And it was the first incident of the T-Virus ever. The team who survived that will always have my respect.”_ _

__He paused. “Though, to be perfectly honest, I only ever heard the story from his sister, who heard it from his friend, who really had a thing for the guy, so I don’t actually know how accurate the entire story even is."_ _

__Helena was quiet for a moment, prompting Leon to glance to her. Her brow was furrowed as she listened. “Was this guy a friend of yours?” she asked hesitantly. “Not that I mean to pry, but you— don’t look so good.”_ _

__Leon didn’t bother trying to tear the misery from his eyes. “Lotta people die in this line of work,” he said softly, footsteps slowing as the hurt damningly overcame the anger. “Lotta good people are lost. And some of them— some of them you miss more than others.”_ _

__Helena stared into him. She opened her mouth as if she wanted to say something when something heavy swam through the water in front of them. Leon looked ahead in horror as huge fins broke the surface, a gigantic creature submerging itself back under the black waves. “Oh what the fuck,” he whispered to himself, keeping Rot out of the water._ _

__“That didn’t look good,” Helena said shakily._ _

__“Keep moving,” Leon ordered urgently. If they were lucky— they never were— they might be able to outrun this thing and avoid a fight. He laughed, high pitched and breathless, trying to fight down the adrenaline of having to fight something much bigger than himself. “Ugh, just once I’d like to find a place flooded with warm water, you know?”_ _

__Helena didn’t respond, and Leon knew she had to be thinking about what they’d just seen. “Don’t think about it,” he told her. “Don’t think about it until we have no choice.” He focused on picking up the pace, running as fast as he could through the water that went to knee level the further they got. The slosh of the water between their legs hackled Leon’s nerves. He really fucking _hated_ the cold. And with the way these caverns were looking, Leon half expected to see Fish just swimming around, offering to swing open his jacket and let Leon purchase something nice._ _

__As if._ _

__There was a gate ahead with a red light reaffirming to Leon that he really did have no luck. He huffed and looked around, shivering already, and saw a ledge overhead. Peering through the gates revealed a lever. Leon put two and two together and wished he was fifty pounds lighter. “Helena, you take the high road,” he said, threading his fingers and hoisting Helena up to the ledge once she was ready. While Helena got to climb around and enjoy the dry ground, Leon waited in the waters that were growing colder by the second. He wrapped his arms tight around his torso and grit his teeth to keep them from chattering, looking into the next room with some sort of vague jealousy, wishing he was—_ _

__There were bubbles in the water._ _

__Leon pressed up against the bars, going up on his toes to try and get a better look. There was a splash as Helena dropped back into the water and went for the lever, yanking it down, but Leon wasn’t happy just yet. His eyes were on the bubbles that were suddenly way too close to his partner. “Helena!”_ _

__His warning came too late— Helena was suddenly wrenched beneath the surface, the water disturbed as she fought beneath. The gate opened for Leon, but he was terrified of being too late. The water made him slow as he struggled to come to the rescue of his partner, momentarily scared that he’d lose her so soon, so violently, when Helena suddenly sprung from the surface, gasping and scrambling for a ledge. “Shark!” She sputtered as she climbed the ledge, her skin pale and eyes wide like a fish. Then she looked to Leon and screamed. “There’s a fucking shark down there!”_ _

__Leon blinked, dumbstruck. “You’re shitting me.”_ _

__“I’m not!” she choked out, wiping at her face, trying to get the hair from her eyes while she desperately scanned the depths for whatever had dragged her under. “I’m not, Leon, Leon, it’s a shark! It’s a fucking _shark_!”_ _

__“I’m getting too old for this,” Leon griped as he checked over his weapons and realized he had literally nothing that was reliable against a shark. Del Lago had taken harpoons— all Leon had was a knife. “Alright,” he said, shaking out his limbs, scanning the inky black water and hating how he couldn’t see a damn thing. “You hungry? Cause I’ve been told I’m a real tasty sna—”_ _

__The ground gave way beneath his feet— Leon was really tired of these old places always falling apart. The walls and pillars caved in, Leon dropping a level down, plummeting into icy cold depths. He barely had a moment to catch his breath before all air was shoved from his lungs, the cold overwhelming his senses for a singlet terrifying moment. Memories of drowning, of being left in the cold, of his entire body twisting in on itself in a desperate attempt to create and conserve body heat; the cold was the scariest thing he had ever known._ _

__Then, underwater, surrounded by muted blues and blacks, Leon saw something the size of a house swim past him, glinting teeth sinking down into a rotten corpse._ _

__Leon struggled, kicking through the water, one instinct overtaking the other. He didn’t know up from down and there was nothing left in his lungs, so his body flailed out his limbs, searching for something to grasp and pull at. Black began to creep in on his vision and he could feel something huge brush his arm. The cold had his body locking up at there was a sinister black eye trained on him from the darkness that he knew would devour him. His hands stretched uselessly out into nothing, the ruins of the catacombs silent around him, Leon readied himself to join the dead that were floating in the water beside him—_ _

__Something yanked on the collar of his jacket and Leon was thrusted up and into an air pocket. He heaved for air, gasping and sputtering and shaking like a leaf as two solid arms held him above water, a warm body pressed against his back. The air pocket was just the tiniest little cave of oxygen caught in the rubble that had collapsed. The air itself was frigid, but better than the wet, and the refraction of the light from the water he was treading in was almost peaceful._ _

__“Are you alright?”_ _

__Helena’s voice was a blessing and a comfort he welcomed, Leon reaching out and grabbing a corner of stone, holding himself up. He still didn’t have his breathing back under control, but he wasn’t about to drown himself in a panic. Leon nodded, unable to use his words for a few more seconds. The hands didn’t leave his body. He was reminded of the way Chris would hold him and felt guilty for putting Helena in Chris’s shoes. “I’m fine,” he stammered, the cold still clinging to his bones. “Couldn’t— Couldn’t find the way up.”_ _

__Helena shuddered a breath. “That thing is down here with us.”_ _

__Leon squeezed his eyes shut and fumbled a hand into his jacket, pulling out a knife. “Gonna show Chris what it really looks like to kill a monster shark.”_ _

__Impossibly, Helena let out the tiniest little laugh. Then she said, “I don’t want to go back down there.”_ _

__“I know,” Leon replied, because he did. “I know how awful it is seeing these things and know you’re the only one who can take it down. Knowing that either you fight or you die. I know how scary it can be. But it’s the only choice we’ve got and we’re not the type to give up.” He looked to Helena over his shoulder, touched that she was still holding him up even though he had a good grip on the crumbled wall. “Your sister wouldn’t want you to give up. Find what you’re reaching for and never let go—that’s how you get yourself past the fear.” He reached back and got a better grip on the wall with his other hand, lifting himself to turn around and face Helena._ _

__“We’re the good guys,” he told her firmly. “We’re the ones fighting the monsters back. And we’re the only ones who can do it. So you find that thing you’re reaching for— find that pain. Find the pain, hold it tight, and tell yourself you’re fighting to make sure no one else has to ever know what the pain you’re feeling ever again.” He waited a breath, letting her understand. “Got it?”_ _

__Helena’s jaw quivered— she was probably so scared she couldn’t think straight. But Leon knew the agony of losing her sister wouldn’t let Helena give up. She nodded, her gaze never leaving his. “Got it.”_ _

__Leon nodded back. “Good. Now please tell me you have a knife.”_ _

__Helena looked confused. “What? We have guns?”_ _

__“Water is about eight hundred times denser than air, and sharks are faster than humans. Even if the bullet could do any damage at all— which it really can’t— we wouldn’t be able to move our arms in time enough to aim a shot— that wouldn’t even hit the mark because it would swim faster than the bullet could hit it— unless it was coming right for us, jaws open. The only distance a bullet can be lethal when fired underwater is two feet. We can’t afford to let that.”_ _

__Helena looked scared all over again. Leon breathed slowly and purposefully. “Just tell me you have a knife.”_ _

__Helena’s voice was small. “I have a knife.”_ _

__Leon let go of the wall to clasp her shoulder. “Good,” he told her. “We have to keep moving and find a way out of here. Just stick to me and come back up for air when you see a pocket— don’t let close enough for you to see its eyes.”_ _

__Helena nodded again. They both breathed easily for a few more seconds— then took in deep gulps and sunk below._ _

__The water was just as cold and just as dark and just as fucking terrible as Leon had known it would be. He felt clumsy underwater, losing his grace and speed to the liquid. He’d never liked swimming as a kid for more than several reasons and hated it just as much as an adult. Now, beneath the burning city of Tall Oaks, surrounded by floating infected that would be just as deadly as they were above water if he got within arms’ reach, Leon could easily say that this was his least favorite way to fight anything, ever. Fuck the downpour of Spain, fuck the boats, fuck the underground labs, fuck all of it— this was the _worst.__ _

__There was movement in the deep. Out of the corner of his eye, Leon saw the creature._ _

__Jesus._ _

__Leon was pretty sure Del Lago had been bigger, but Del Lago hadn’t had teeth like this. The shark was like a cross between fish and person with a bit of tropical terror thrown in, delicate tendrils of silky fins extending further than a shark’s normally would. Leon was sure he could see stub like legs that seemed alarmingly humanoid, but the legs didn’t mean shit compared to the horrifying face. The mouth could easily swallow an entire person whole and the body seemed big enough to comfortable fit a couple people curled up in the stomach. Leon wished there was a way to swim silently as he stroked through the water, watching the shark-like creature with hyper awareness._ _

__It seemed to be playing with them. Snatching up corpses and then swimming away, taunting Leon and Helena like it could taste their fear. Leon was sure some of the senses had been dulled by the virus, but he couldn’t bet on this thing losing its ability to track through blood. He kicked a little harder, knowing that the risk in attracting attention was worth the benefit of getting away faster. Leon and Helena were in the shark’s habitat now— they were the ones being hunted._ _

__There was a soft filter of light overhead that Leon swam for, bursting into another air pocket and heaving in the sweet oxygen, Helena right behind. “Holy shit!” she gasped once they had both caught their breath. “Do you see the size of that thing?!”_ _

__“I know, I know,” Leon said, brain working hard to run through their options. “Way I see it, we’ve got two choices— try and fight it now so we can take search for a way out in relative peace, or head for an exit.”_ _

__“What exit?” Helena asked hopelessly._ _

__“There’s gotta be one,” Leon insisted. Simmons’s door led us in here— that means there’s gotta be a door that leads out.” He’d gone into countless impossible situations and always found an exit. “Just trust me.” They didn’t have any other options._ _

__Helena slapped at the water and pulled at her hair with one hand. “Fuck,” she choked out. “Get to an exit. I can’t be in this cold for much longer.”_ _

__Leon cut his chin to the side. “You’re telling me.” He took another deep gulp of air and dropped back down— then flinched back as the dark body of the shark swam lazily past him, the tail fin brushing his ankle like a tease. The fear Leon felt in that split second was almost nauseating, but he didn’t let it bring him under. He swam again, focusing only on finding a way out._ _

__There were smaller lights throughout, the firelight from the level above that was still intact peaking through and giving Leon a way to navigate. He kicked off from rubble and walls to avoid the reaching hand of the corpses that were scattered throughout, their bodies eaten away and softened by the water. Jaws unhinged from skulls, legs breaking away slowly from hips— it was beyond disgusting, especially as Leon became acutely aware that he was swimming through the very depths these things were decaying in. If he hadn’t been exposed by now—_ _

__Overhead, something caught Leon’s eye— a grating, metal and likely heavy, but definitely a way up because it couldn’t be anything else. Leon flailed his hand sluggishly back at Helena, then pointed up, swimming for the grate and pressing his shoulder against it. There wasn’t much he could push off of, and the grating itself was heavier than he’d expected. A good sign, really, cause it meant that gravity had a lot more of an influence above. This had to be it. Helena joined him and they kicked uselessly in the water, Leon feeling the air leaving his lungs with the more effort he exerted. He could see that blackness again, the oxygen deprivation tugging at his thoughts, the cold too much surrounding him, the ghost of a hand around his neck as he died. He couldn’t give up, though, he _wouldn’t_ give up, not when he had Chris’s memory and Adam’s promise, and Simmons still smirking at him, telling Leon he’d lost again. Leon wasn’t going to quit— he’d survived way too much shit for him to quit._ _

__Air burst from Helena’s mouth, a bad sign, a kick in the fucking pants for Leon to get it together and move this damn thing. He flailed his legs out, found a crack in the ceiling, a place to shove his feet, and _pushed._ Little by little, the metal began to give, lifting from its notches and giving way. He heard the faintest sound of a scream that was lost to bubbles before the grate finally dislodged and Leon shoved it up and over with Helena’s help. _ _

__They erupted from the depths, breaking through the surface of the frigid wears with heaving lungs, Helena gagging violently as the oxygen swam back through her veins. Leon clung to the ledge that they’d come up to, looking around and seeing solid ground— _dry_ ground. A burst of hysteric laughter tore itself from his lips and he looked to Helena with something like bewilderment. “I told you,” he rasped, his own lungs ruined from the ordeal. “There’s always a way out.”_ _

__Helena met his vindication with a shaky smile of her own. Then she was yanked back into the darkness without a sign._ _

__Leon stared at the water where she had just been, the ripples mocking him as they lapped at his clothes. “Helena?” No response— why would there be? She was gone. It took Leon only one more second to process what had happened. Then he was diving back down without hesitation, going after his partner._ _

__He saw the shark thrashing with something pale in its mouth— _Helena_ in its mouth, the bastard. Leon swam forward, pulling out his knife, kicking off from the ceiling and slamming the blade straight into the eyes of the fucker. It let Helena go immediately, thrashing away from Leon, wrenching the knife from its eye in the struggle and then turning to him, teeth flashing. Leon got a perfect view down the maw of this thing, through the teeth and muscles right to the squirming, glowing, three-pronged tongue. Just as the jaws were about to snap down, something snagged it from behind, drawing its attention from Leon. _ _

__Gratitude was the only word to describe the sensation in Leon’s chest as he saw the shark spin and caught sight of Helena stabbing wildly at the tail, cutting through the delicate fins. The thing slammed itself into the nearest wall, its mouth opening again with a roar that Leon barely heard. He grasped at the knife, lunging forward gracelessly again to plunge it into the other eye, blinding the creature completely. The shark whipped its head about and knocked Leon’s side hard, shoving the air from Leon’s lungs. The panic set in just as quickly, Leon struggling, spinning in the darkness and unable to find the way up. There was only cold for a moment, and then warmth— then the taste of salt and iron— blood._ _

__A hand took Leon’s and he was brought back up into air again, Leon almost sobbing as the oxygen hit him. Helena resurfaced only for a second, her eyes crazy but resolved, and then she was back under. Leon clung to the dry stone of the level up, trembling badly, knowing he had to go back under but suddenly terrified of the thought. He couldn’t drown, not again, he didn’t want to see the world go dark, he wanted _air,_ he wanted _warmth_ , he wanted _Chris.__ _

__“Stop it,” he choked out to himself, hitting the water and shaking himself. “Stop getting lost in your head.” He was still in this fight. He was still necessary. His partner still needed him._ _

__Oh fuck, _Helena.__ _

__Leon _made_ himself drop back beneath the waves and didn’t shudder away from what he saw. Helena valiantly drove a twisted piece of metal into the tongue of the thrashing shark, putting up a fight and making Leon sick with pride. But even with her effort, the shark was just too fucking big. It whipped itself about and knocked Helena down, sending her deeper. It was blind but it could feel the body heat and turned its nose down, opening those huge jaws to swallow Helena whole. Leon only had one shot and he took it._ _

__He kicked himself down and punched that fucking shark right in the eye, hitting the hilt of his knife and shoving the blade even deeper into the monster. This time, Leon heard the roar, and he swam down to Helena, drawing her up into his arms and holding her against his side. The shark felt him, felt his blood, felt his life, and writhed even as it turned to him, teeth snapping uncontrollably, acting only on instinct. The movement was so close that Leon could feel the water disturbed with ever bite— so close that it was about two feet away._ _

__Leon held Helena tight, lifted Rot, prayed he could get the gun repaired after this foolish shot he was about to take, and slammed what could be Rot’s last bullet into the quivering, infected tongue of the struggling beast._ _

__If they were above water, Leon would say it died screaming. Instead, it lost control of its own body, slamming itself into the wall just above Leon’s head, He kept his arm up to shield himself and Helena from the rubble, but quickly realized another problem— the water was moving. He only had a split second to wrap both arms around Helena before the current dragged them away, tugging them someplace that Leon could only hope had a reliable oxygen supply. He lost himself for a moment in the rush of the cold, tossed and turned by the pull, clinging to Helena and praying she’d had enough air left in her to survive this. And just as Leon’s lungs started to burn, they were tossed out into the open, Leon’s eyes snapping open and seeing the world rush by as they were dropped into—_ _

__More water._ _

___Open_ water._ _

__Leon kept Helena close as he swam for the surface that was easy to see with the light of the sky showing him the way. He broke to the surface and slapped his hand around, grabbing hold of what was a piece of lumbar and lifting himself up, laying Helena across it. She hacked a lung as she feebly held to the wood, blinking in a daze like she didn’t believe they’d actually made it. Leon was exhausted and cold as fuck and he needed a drink, but he smiled at her and and reached out to clasp her shoulder, happy to feel her alive under his hand. He looked back to where they’d fallen from— a cliff face with a hole that looked like a sewage main. The land behind wasn’t visible from so far below, but Leon could see the sky was lit up an unnatural color— it glowed a pale greenish-blue from the fires of Tall Oaks._ _

__Then there was the rush of jets in the sky. Leon looked up as two flew in, F-15E Strike Eagles, heading right for the town. He watched them disappear from sight. Then he saw clouds of light and fire and heat and lost the air in his lungs all over again. A nuke. They’d dropped a fucking nuke._ _

__“We— we have to get out of the water.” His voice didn’t sound like his own, but he knew the words were sound no matter who they came from. He pulled Helena back into the water, using what little energy he had left to get them to shore. The shore itself was rocky and shifted beneath his feet, his stance wobbling as he watched his shadow cast on the ground grow longer as the mushroom cloud behind grew larger._ _

__“He’s sterilizing the area,” Helena said, voice heavy with disbelief._ _

__Leon nodded, turning and facing the weight of what he’d failed to prevent. “And destroying the evidence.”_ _

__“How could he?”_ _

__Leon looked to Helena, wondering how old she was. Normally, the older someone got, the less disturbed they were by the depravity of humanity. He didn’t know what to tell her. Anything he could say wouldn’t register with her until she experienced exactly what the worst of the worst was capable of._ _

__There was a ringing in his ears. It took him a moment to realize his earpiece was still working. Leon looked to Helena in alarm, who looked alarmed right back, before they both pressed into comms, Leon bracing for Simmons’s snake oil voice._ _

__“Thank god you’re still alive.”_ _

__Leon shut his eyes, soothed by Hannigan’s voice. “Where’s Simmons?” he asked, knowing Hannigan was with him till the bitter end._ _

__“After speaking with you, he left in a hurry,” she told him._ _

__“Shit.”_ _

__Helena clenched her hand into a fist. “Where did he go?”_ _

__“As he was leaving, he was talking to someone on the phone. He didn’t sound to happy.”_ _

__“Anyway we can find out where he went?”_ _

__“Don’t worry, I’ve got a tail on him.” Leon could hear the smirk in Hannigan’s voice. “He’s on his way to the airport right now where his private jet is preparing to leave for China.”_ _

__Now that wasn’t what he had expected. He turned to Helena with a frown. “China?”_ _

__“Yes,” Hannigan affirmed. “Take a look at these.”_ _

__Leon pulled out his phone, going to Helena’s side so she could scan whatever was being sent with him. The bright light barely had him flinching now that he was out of the cold and back with a sense of direction. The images of the burning city, though, definitely had him wincing. “What happened?” Helena asked._ _

__“Another Bioterrorism attack,” Hannigan explained. “The BSAA confirmed it was the same one used in Eastern Europe six months ago called the C-Virus.”_ _

__As the screen changed from images of a dying city to the familiar sight of bodies encased in a cocoon like shell, Leon felt tired all over again. The whiplash of that alone was almost enough to distract Leon from what Hannigan had said— almost._ _

__“We saw cocoons just like that here!” Helena exclaimed._ _

__Hannigan didn’t say anything— the feed on Leon’s phone went dark. Was someone watching Hannigan? Leon put his phone away and pressed into comms again, wanting Hannigan to know what he was doing. “We need to stop Simmons and take him into custody right away.”_ _

__“We have no evidence,” Hannigan said softly. “And right now you two are on the top of the list of their suspects.”_ _

__Leon shut his eyes, gave himself a moment to think, and then turned to face the mushroom cloud that had once been Tall Oaks. “Hannigan— I need you to fake our deaths. Can you do that?”_ _

__Helena stared at him in shock. “What?”_ _

__“Of course,” Hannigan confirmed. “But they’ll figure it out eventually.” She sighed. “What are you going to do?”_ _

__Leon stared at the billowing clouds of destruction and told himself that it was a mercy all of the survivors had died in the cathedral— better die fighting the traitor’s plan than at the cowardly hands of a traitor realizing their own mistakes. “We’re going to China.”_ _

__“Leon— are you sure that’s a good idea? This is the same virus used in Edonia. And with the BSAA already there…”_ _

__Hannigan didn’t want Leon facing something like this so soon after Chris— so soon after Adam. “I won’t let Simmons ruin anymore lives,” He said, his tone resolute, the cold at the back of his thoughts as he told himself this was the best way to make good on his promise. “I told Chris long ago that I’d be fighting to make the world a better place— and that’s what I’m going to do. Even if I die trying.”_ _

__He looked back at Helena, eyes hard. “You coming with?”_ _

__Helena stood firm. “I’m not letting that bastard take away anyone’s family ever again.”_ _

__Leon nodded and pressed into comms. “That’s the plan, Hannigan— consider us dead.”_ _

__As he chimed out of comms, Leon turned away from the nuclear fallout and ran through the steps of getting airline tickets with a fake identity._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for all your lovely comments ;u; you're all too nice and I don't deserve y'all


	6. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S HAPPENING NOBODY PANIC IT'S HAPPENING
> 
> I'm estimating like 3-4 more chaps left for this one 
> 
> don't quote me on that I'm bad at math and I don't know how to write short chapters

Chris knew her.

Down below, broken away from his pursuit of an invisible beast by an explosion of heat and sounds, Chris saw a man and a woman in the streets, the woman pulling the man back to his feet and turning to run. And Chris—

Chris _knew_ her.

The other guy was familiar too, but he didn’t bring the same hammering in Chris’s chest. The woman with the blonde hair and the bright eyes and how light she was on her feet. Chris knew her, he fucking knew her, he just didn’t know her name and felt like the lowest of the low for not knowing it in the first place. He was supposed to know her, fuck, he was _supposed to know her._ There was a woman in his head, brunette with dark eyes like his, turning her back on him because he didn’t know this girl with the blonde hair and the bright eyes and the loyalty to her companion. 

He knew her, he fucking knew her, why couldn’t he just think of the name—

“They’re alive!”

Chris’s gaze snapped to Piers beside him, something like hope flaring at the idea that he would find his answers. The young man was watching the couple below with bright eyes, rocking back on his feet like he was letting his guard down. Then he looked to Chris and gave a wry grin. “They went missing six months ago in Edonia.”

Oh jesus. “Where have they been?”

“I just said they were missing, Captain. No one knows where they were.”

Chris nodded, looking back down at them again. “Did you tell him?”

“Sir?”

“Did you tell him,” Chris repeated. “That Sherry—” _That was her name, Sherry._ “— was missing.” He looked to Piers again and wondered why the other was looking at him with such bewilderment. “What the hell is that look for?”

“Tell who?” Piers asked.

Chris stared at Piers for a moment, then felt something like confusion himself. Who needed to know about Sherry? He knew her name now, but that was it. Maybe it was a friend? Or a boyfriend? Family? Did Sherry have—

Wait, no, Sherry Birkin, right? Her parents were dead. Chris knew they were dead, they had to be, he looked down at Sherry and heard the echoed wails of a sick and dying man, the wheezing coughs of a broken woman fighting to fix her mistakes. And with that memory was a pair of blue eyes and all of good in the godforsaken world melded into one smile and one brush of the skin. 

Who was that? As Chris stared down into the fires of the city, watching the couple below look towards an approaching sound, he asked himself who he was seeing in his mind’s eye. Who was the smile and the laughter and the gentle touch that had Chris’s heart racing and his mind calming? Who on this terrible planet could have eyes so endlessly and beautifully blue?

“Captain!”

Chris tore himself from his thoughts and looked to the right in time to see the American AH-64 Apache Helicopter Gunship with the mounted M230 chain gun round the corner and stare them down with cold indifference. Death from above, impossible to outrun for the couple on the street below. Panic bled through Chris, a voice insisting that he couldn’t let Sherry die or he’d never be forgiven by the blue, let alone forgive himself.

As the copter swung around and barely gave them a moment’s notice, the bright searchlight landing on the couple below, Piers stated the obvious— “Neo-Umbrella’s after them!”— and Chris didn’t hesitate.

“Everyone, spread out!” he roared. “We don’t let them fall at any cost!” Even if Neo-Umbrella weren’t after these two, telling Chris that they were important _somehow_ , this quiet part of Chris was clawing at his insides and insisting he needed to keep Sherry alive or he would lose everything. “Take everyone of those damned things down.”

“Captain, that’s an armored chopper down there,” one of the soldiers told him, Chris’s thoughts giving him the name Marco. “Conventional arms won’t work!”

“Forget the chopper— aim for the J’avo.” He broke away from his team without another order, figuring they would figure it out themselves. He leaped down atop a shabby roof, ignoring the dangerous creak and the dent his armored body made. Chris bounded up scaffolding, aiming his sights at the underbelly of the chopper, searching for a break in the armor that would reveal the delicate insides. Gunfire spattered around him, the J’avo shrieking below as they were felled by his team. Something like pride surged through him that he shoved down, firing up into the helicopter and grimacing as his bullets ricocheted uselessly.

_“Captain, Keaton here,”_ filtered a voice through Chris’s comms. _“I can’t reach the two on radio, they’re not responding. What should we do?”_

Shit. It would be hard to have a unified front of combat if he couldn’t communicate with Sherry and— and the guy. The name Albert came to Chris’s mind just like the names of his men, so Chris decided he was going to call him Albert.

“We wipe out the hostiles,” he barked, deciding he couldn’t keep wasting his time with these people— not when Ada Wong was so close. “After that, they’re on their own.” As he ran down the scaffolding to the lower level of one of the tall buildings, Chris made an expression of absolute disgust as he saw what looked like a monster with the torso of a man and the legs of an overgrown cricket. Just what the hell was this virus and had those chosen insects as a DNA overlap? Last Chris had checked, insects didn’t come the size of—

A memory flashed through his mind, giant spiders restlessly skittering through dark halls, a woman’s voice in his ear. He staggered back and missed the moment the monstrous J’avo aimed their sights on him, Chris failing to get out of the way as the enemy triggered was pulled and the shots—

Spattered, but Chris was suddenly on the floor, yanked down by gloved hands that immediately pulled him back up. “Jesus, Captain!” Piers cried out in his ear, visibly shaken as he fired a single, destructive round that tore through the skull of the cricket-human crossbred disaster. “Where are you right now?!”

Chris couldn’t answer, eyes suddenly on Piers’s gun. “You— the rifle.” Piers blinked dumbly at him and Chris yanked him by the shoulder, bringing him to the edge of the scaffolding and pointing up at the helicopter. “Bring that shit down— even you can make a shot at the pilot, right?”

Piers gave him a strung out smirk, eyes wild in a way that didn’t match with the tug on his lips. “I’m the best shot the BSAA’s got,” he declared waveringly. “You can count on me, Captain.”

Chris nodded, breaking away again to mow down J’avo, catching sight of more of the new mutation with the sickening cricket legs and scowling as he observed one jumping nearly four stories high in a single leap. “So that’s what’s considered useful,” he griped, thinking the developer an outright idiot for making this. This mutation was only worthwhile in urbanized areas, considering they seemed best for infiltration of high places and that was it. Their legs were fragile, broken away by a few bullets, rendering them useless for extended combat, and they were too light to cause damage when landing. It was almost like someone was more so testing the boundaries of what their precious little virus was capable of rather than perfecting it. Such negligent experimentation at the cost of human lives made Chris _sick._

“Captain!”

Chris was startled from his thought by Piers’s voice, looking down the scaffolding to see Piers struggling. “I can’t make a shot!” the soldier cried out over the thrum of the helicopter blades. “The fucker’s too high— can’t reach him!”

Chris could fix that. Without a word, he grabbed the railing, swung himself over the scaffolding, and dropped below, grunting as he hit another shabby roof, only for Chris to jump down again, landing in the dirty streets. Piers’s cry of panic was almost painful, but he ignored it. He brought up his infuriatingly unfamiliar 909 and made deft shots for the mounted M230, drawing the fire from the couple to himself, and with how Chris was backed to the wall, the chopper had no choice but to lose altitude, giving Piers his shot. 

Thirty-by-one-thirty-three rounds rained down from above, slapping the ground like hail, Chris backing himself into the corner, trying to remain unreachable. His men were all panicking in his ear, but he ignored them as well. He fired up into what little he could see of the cockpit, holding his breath as the rain of bullets got closer and closer, the M230’s cool down only a split second of reprieve before the ground was shredded again. He was pressed against the wall, there was no way for him to escape, he could feel the heat from the rounds, could smell the gunpowder, could taste the lead and death and squeezed his eyes shut, praying he’d be forgiven by god at the very least for letting Sherry into this mess—

Tiny chips of shattered glass suddenly dropped harmlessly from above, a computer system screeching to replace the steady fire of the M230. Chris’s eyes flew open as the chopper suddenly fell into a tailspin, the cockpit shield broken. Chris slumped back against the wall, hearing a crow of excitement from Piers over the comms, the young man having saved Chris’s skin again. The helicopter swung through the air like a demented carnival ride before smashing into the walls of one of the nearby buildings, blades shredding stone, the entire side of the structure crumbling to the ground and blocking Chris from the couple. He didn’t care and dug in, gunning for a ladder and climbing it back up to the upper scaffolding. The job was done— they needed to keep going. “Move out!”

_“Captain, we should escort those two outta here,”_ Piers said through comms as he packed up the legs of his rifle. _“They’ll never survive on their own.”_

“We’re moving out,” Chris repeated in a low growl, pissed that Piers wouldn’t stop fighting him. He was the captain, he was giving the orders. They’d killed the J’avo so Chris’s conscious was clear. “Let’s go!”

_“But sir—”_

Piers was thankfully interrupted by Reid blowing the door that blocked them from progress. Chris marched through it first, steadfastly turning a deaf ear to Piers’s protests. 

A staircase that high up above was Chris’s next hurdle to leap. He bounded up the steps, taking three at a time, uncaring if his men caught up. There was no worry of wearing himself out, Chris living on pure adrenaline and rage at this point. He barely felt the burn in his legs as he made it up four stories in record time and spotted another ladder, climbing that next. He didn’t even know where he was going— he just knew he had to keep moving.

It was odd— Chris was used to not knowing the first thing about himself, but losing current events to the black waves of memory loss was a new thing for him. Names and faces were fine, but his goals? Pursuits? Chris could barely remember what his current mission objective was beyond Ada Wong and her death. Did he even know where she was? Did it matter? Chris would search the burned carcass of the entire city until he found her if he had to. He just wished he knew why he was suddenly unable to forget the color blue when surrounded by the red of flames.

The rooftop was so high above the carnage that the city almost looked peaceful. There were no fires within sight and the night was dark and warm. Chris stood at the ledge and took an uncharacteristic moment to look up at the stars. He couldn’t see them. It almost felt like this entire city, fallen to the virus, had been abandoned by the sky itself.

Then, inexplicably, Chris looked down. Far down, a good five stories, at Sherry and Albert below. 

They looked back up at him with expressions Chris couldn’t see from so far away. As Chris’s team bounded forward and joined Chris at staring down at the pair below, Chris suddenly felt the piercing gaze of someone he knew— someone he was afraid of. He pulled his eyes from Sherry to Albert and told himself he could almost read the thoughts of the young man, even from so far away. Then he realized— Albert wasn’t looking at him. 

Chris looked to Piers beside him and saw that Albert was staring at Piers, who was staring back. He watched his first in command curiously, seeing something in the other man’s eyes that was foreignly familiar. There was a twist to Piers’s brow like he was afraid or confused, but he didn’t break eye contact with Albert, and Chris had the sudden urge to take Piers by the shoulder and tell him everything was okay.

Then, below, Sherry pulled at Albert’s hands and the two moved on, running for some unknown goal. Piers jerked forward like he wanted to jump down and go after them for a split second of insanity. “Captain, we can’t let them go!”

“Our mission is the terminate the BOWs,” Chris replied stiffly, knowing that they would’t be able to catch up with those two even if they tried. 

“But Neo-Umbrella is after them,” Piers insisted, bewilderingly concerned for the two. The eye contact from before— what was Albert to Piers? “Shouldn’t we—”

“I said,” Chris interrupted coldly. “Our mission is to terminate the BOWs.” He didn’t know how well Piers and Albert knew each other, but it didn’t change a god damn thing. Sherry had survived. Ada Wong was still out there. Chris wasn’t going to waste time protecting people that would just die from his own failures like everyone else did. “We’re going after that BOW— Ada Wong is not getting away with this.”

There was hurt in Piers’s eyes. “Captain, please, you need to think things through.”

Chris ignored Piers for what felt like the millionth time as memory slammed back into him. Only moments ago he’d been unsure of his goal, but that moment on the roof had made things clear— he was pursuing that invisible creature that had torn a soldier from his grasp, another one of his men lost. He was hunting that thing down and slaughtering it, no questions asked. He leaped across a rooftop and entered the next building, dights up and filtering out the feet and breath of his team behind him. The inside of the building was exactly the same as all the rest, and he was having a hard time distinguishing his returning memories from just general déjà vu from the environment. There was a row of lockers ahead int he flickering light, Chris approaching cautiously with his gun up when he saw boots on the floor. He rounded the corner and then stopped, a sinking feeling in his chest at the sight of the body on the ground.

The body was a mess. There were huge puncture holes through the bulletproof vest, blood and some other viscous, clear liquid staining the uniform. The left arm was missing, torn from the shoulder, an empty socket of bone. “Shit,” Marco hissed from behind. “That’s no way to go out.”

Chris took a step back as something dripped onto his neck from above. He wiped it away and looked up, grimacing at the sight of more of that clear fluid dripping from the ceiling with cobwebs soaked in the stuff. It was like saliva, almost, slimy and smelling faintly of digestive acid. His stomach turned over as he looked down the hallway to his left, seeing more flickering electricity and darkness.

He moved forward first, his men following and taking his silence in stride, but their boots were heavy and their equipment graceless. There was a voice in the back of his head berating his lack of stealth, and Chris struggled with annoyance as he kept the 909 up and moved cautiously down the hall, then into a room, then a next room. The whole place was disturbingly quiet. Chris hated it.

“Captain,” Piers whispered from behind the line of the team. “We should really be contacting HQ—”

Chris shushed Piers harshly with a clench of his fist in the air, hearing something that had the hair on the his arms standing. A whisper in the distance, like something light being dragged across the floor, moving quickly. Chris saw a door ahead, a gate, really, and moved as silently as he could for it, pushing it open and tensing at the shriek of rusted metal. His sights spanned the room before him, searching for something in the overwhelming dark, hearing the muted rush of something moving along the floor. His heart was racing with adrenaline, but his eyes saw nothing, only darkness and dust, a terrifying thought occurring to him that this thing might be somehow invisible just as something was disturbed in front of him.

A huge mass slid across the ground in front of him, as high as his waist and longer than he could measure, but it wasn’t actually there. Like the wavering sight of the road during a heat wave or the shimmering hallucination of a mirage, Chris knew it was there and could see the world itself warp around the body, but he _couldn’t fucking see it._

“What the hell was that?” Reid asked sharply.

“Did anyone see anything?” Piers demanded. “I heard it— what’s out there?”

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” someone else added.

“Everyone stay close,” Chris bit out sharply, needing his men to stop losing their shit and help him _think._

“Captain, what was—”

“That’s the target!” he snapped, frustrated, moving recklessly into the room and heading down a level, guessing that this was where the thing had gone according to the distortion he’d witnessed. It hadn’t left the room and it hadn’t gone past him again— it was below.

“Dammit!” Carter cursed. “Why won’t this thing show itself?!”

_”Because it’s fucking invisible,”_ Chris hissed, losing his patience. “Everyone follow me, right now!” He rounded a corner and went low, waving his men around it and follow him. He was sweeping the next room, knowing it had to be somewhere around here, when there was a sudden scream from behind. He whirled around and staggered back at the sight of one of his men held in the mouth of a huge, huge fucking _snake._ His soldier fired wildly in death throes, impossible for them to save, screaming as he was thrashed about. The snake sank fangs into the body and then shimmered out of existence. The snake slammed the body on the ground like it was playing carelessly with a toy, and then snatched the now-dad soldier by the leg, slithering away, dragging the body with him.

Chris was going to fucking gut this thing. He dug his boots in and sprinted after the BOW, ignoring Piers’s plea for him to wait. He wasn’t going to let this thing get away again and kill more of his men. He wasn’t losing anyone else to these monsters or he would die trying. He tore around a corner, kept his gun up, searching the darkness and finding—

Nothing.

Fucking _nothing._

Piers came around the corner in front of Chris and Chris didn’t lower his gun when his sights fell on Piers, fury making his hands shake, an irrational part of his brain whispering hatred, disgusted with Piers for bringing him into the world and thinking he could handle it, could handle the anger and the fear and the bloodlust, the trauma and the trembling, the weight of responsibility with the world burning. For an irrational second, Chris kept his gun on Piers and told himself he was already monster enough to pull the trigger.

Chris yanked his sights away from Piers and gave a ragged shout, pissed that’d failed again.

“What the hell were you thinking pulling a kamikaze stunt like that?!” Piers burst out and that—

_Fuck Piers._

He’d been the one to drag Chris out here, he’d been the one to force him into hell, Piers fucking Nivans had condemned Chris, with his broken thoughts and shattered psyche, to this war zone and Piers fucking Nivans had no _god damn_ right to be shouting at him like this. The rage was there, building slowly, and yet—

“These are my men,” Chris said, his voice low and scraping the edges of ruined. The rage was there, but so was the overwhelming waves of guilt. That soldier in the maw of the serpent had been firing his gun until the very end— that soldier had wanted to live more than anything, and Chris had failed him. He clenched his jaw and knew that Piers wouldn’t understand. “You follow my lead or I’ll find someone who will.”

“Do you even hear yourself?” Piers demanded.

_The fucking nerve of this asshole—_

Chris turned to face him, rage overwhelming the guilt yet again. This bastard had brought Chris here to die knowing full well Chris Redfield wasn’t even really _Chris Redfield._ He stared into the sniper, struggling to keep his fury in check before he really did something he knew any reincarnation of Chris Redfield would regret. “Fall in line, soldier.” Then he marched past Piers, not caring if he was followed or not. If his team decided to abandon him, then so be it. Chris would abandon himself if he could.

As he went down the hall, boots echoed behind him, and he felt all the worse for it.

“How are we supposed to drop this thing if we can’t even see it?” Reid asked, apparently unfazed by the spat.

“Shut up and keep moving,” Chris growled, knowing that being loud was only going to get them killed. This thing could sneak up on them in a moment’s notice, so it would be better to be as silent as possible and limit what it could sneak up on. He moved through the halls, grimacing as he saw the walls were glistening with more of the slick that he hoped wasn’t venom considering how it had flecked across his skin. Turning a corner revealed the body of the man Chris had failed. He stared at it for a long moment, wishing he was someone better. Then he turned away and moved on, heading down a flight of stairs.

The walls were fucking _dripping._

Chris felt sick just looking at it, felt like a bug caught in a web, awaiting the puncture of fangs and the slide of venom in his veins. Even the air was thick down here, almost musky with the heady scent of an animal giving him a headache. His footsteps echoed despite the thick mucous along the walls. He couldn’t remember if snakes had ears or if the thing could already taste his presence with a devilish tongue.

“Dammit,” one of his men cursed, moving past Chris into a room to the left. “It’s not in here either!” The soldier stood and turned to face Chris, frustration blatant on his face. “That sick fuck is playing with us! Cat and mouse— I’m allergic!”

“Keep your voice down,” Chris growled, glaring daggers into the man.

“This thing probably knows exactly where we are already,” the soldier argued. “We’re better off just burning this whole building to the—”

Plaster and styrofoam tumbled from above as the ceiling was smashed open and the soldier was yanked into the air by a shimmering ghost, legs kicking as he was devoured headfirst. Chris fired without thought, slamming bullets into what he could only hope was the meat of the snake, watching fluid splatter from entry wounds he couldn’t see. Behind him, his team was shouting the name of the soldier that was already dead, killed by his inability to keep _fucking quiet._ The guilt wasn’t even present anymore, drowning beneath the rage and adrenaline. Chris wasted a whole clip in the thing before it slithered back up into the ceiling and the solider— Reid— gave a final scream, red, human blood pouring from the hole above.

Chris moved on without a word. He was going to find this thing and gouge its eyes out with his bare hands.

He stepped out onto a terrace and kept his eyes sharp, searching for any signs in the structure that this thing was—

Chris blinked stupidly as the snake suddenly and almost visibly twisted through the walls, creating an obvious path as he dug its way through concrete down to the lower levels. His men called out over comms that the snake was headed downstairs and Chris made the distinct realization that there were only three men left on his team— Jeff, Marco, and Nivans. They were the only ones left.

He told himself it didn’t matter as he lunged for a lone rope and dropped down to the ground level, his existing team right behind, all of them heading for a ruined elevator shaft. Chris stalled for only a moment, then nodded back at his team. “We go down together— no splitting up.” He hooked a leg around one of the thick wire cables that was still hanging and slid down, taking in the sparking electricity of cut wires and twisted, broken metal surrounding. As the ground got closer, Chris held his breath, eyes searching for the sight of anything monstrous below. He looked up to tell Jeff to keep his eyes pealed just in time to see a ghostly shiver and a red mouth shoot out from the wall and sink fangs into Jeff, yanking him back into the wall, crumbling his body to force him to fit inside the hole. 

Chris stared at where Jeff had once been, a dull sense of shock sinking into his bones. He was so ruined by the sudden difference between there and gone that he didn’t have time to react as his cable suddenly collapsed and he heard the shouts of his men. Chris hit the ground hard, grunting and staying there for a moment, his head throbbing. There was— something. Something floating through his thoughts. That date again, October second, and something else. Some sort of smell, some sort of memory, something—

Matchelangelo?

Chris shook himself, the very stupidity of what he was remembering frustrating him. He stood and pressed into comms, eyes up above at the sight of the cables they’d descended on hanging listlessly from a balcony. “Everyone, report in!”

There was silence for a moment that went on too long before he was answered. _“This is Piers— I’m on the third floor.”_

_“Captain!”_ came the shout of another voice. _“I can’t find Jeff! He’s gone!”_

“Get ahold of yourself, Marco!” Chris ordered, hating the panic he heard in the soldier’s voice. Jesus, had they all been split up? “Where are you?”

_“Second floor! Oh shit, I-I think that thing’s here!”_

“Target is on the second floor,” Chris said into the channel, hoping Jeff would hear him and show up despite the odds. “You all need to come here— now!”

He moved into the building, suddenly realizing that he was utterly alone for the first time since he’d left Edonia. 

There was the whisper of a snake and the building shook like the thing was moving, but even as Chris kept his sights up and alert, he couldn’t see a damn thing. He knew what the creature would look like whenever he caught sight it, that ghostly warp to the air like a heat wave and the stark redness of its inside as it went for its prey. He would be able to see it coming if he was vigilant, but he didn’t know if the others had noticed these signs, these details, and he didn’t know if they’d react quickly enough to save their won skin.

_“Captain,”_ Marco suddenly said as Chris went for the stairs, heading up to the second level. _“I can hear Jeff.”_ Chris’s breath caught. _“That’s him screaming! I’m coming for you, man! Just hang on!”_

“Marco, don’t move!” Chris shouted wildly before he could stop himself. “Just hold your position!” There was no response. “Do you hear me?! That’s an order!” Nothing. Boots echoed to his left and Piers reached his side, meeting Chris’s eyes with his own panicked gaze, the two of them having a moment of connection in knowing they were both terrified of losing the entire team. Chris kicked open a door that stood between them and Marco, Piers darting through it first, his rifle up, breathing harshly enough for Chris to hear him easily. Chris went in after him, checking the corners, holding his breath to be the opposite of Piers.

Across the room, Marco was thrown through a door hard enough to break the thing off its hinges, the snake snapping its mandibles before turning and slithering away, Marco raining hell into it as it fled. “It’s inside!” Marco grit out as he recovered from the throw, holding his shoulder and looking worse than how Chris had left him. Piers scrambled to the man’s side and lifted him to his feet as Chris barreled through the door the snake had disappeared through, seeing red. 

“We find that piece of shit and put it down— fast and hard!” He dropped down a hole in the ground, feeling the rush of adrenaline as Piers followed as well. The kid really never left his side, huh? “I want this thing’s head on a plate, Nivans.”

“You got it, Captain,” Piers replied, a grim determination in his voice. They shared a glance, the twin flames of a fight recognizing one another. Even if Piers grated on Chris’s nerves like nails on a chalkboard, the kid was a solider just like him. They lived the fight and died the same. They were going to slaughter this bastard that had taken their men.

The next room was a slaughterhouse.

The smell of the place alone had Chris staggering, sulfur making his stomach turn over. Something told him he should be used to the smell of rot, but this felt entirely different. The carcasses of pigs hung from meat hooks like demented art pieces, Chris shuddering all over at the sight. Their bellies were split open, guts excavated and just empty ribcages that met the empty chest cavity down into the empty throat. Repulsive. Chris wondered if Chris Redfield was a vegetarian yet.

“Where are you, you sonuva bitch?” Piers called out in a low, stupid voice. Chris wanted to kick the idiot, no longer feeling that kinship. There was a voice in his head berating him for his team’s total lack of stealth, and Chris couldn’t agree more. Their footsteps alone were a booming death sentence. 

The fact that he couldn’t spot the shimmers anywhere was another death entirely. He scanned the room as Piers poked one of the pigs with the end of his rifle, the entire room far too quiet, whether the beast was with them or not. Chris was turning on his heel every other breath, trying to catch sight of something, anything. His pulse was pounding in his ears, the blood rushing like a tidal wave. His heart was going to give out if something—

The hiss and the smack of wetness above coupled with Piers’s screamed of, “Ceiling!” snapped Chris’s gaze up. He saw the fleshy mouth spread wide, the pink and red like neon above Marco—

_”No!”_

Chris was barreling forward before he could think, slamming into Marco and tackling the man to the ground, out of reach of the snapping jaws and _safe_ , fucking _safe._ Chris scrambled to his feet and stood between Marco and the beast, Piers at his side in a blink, the two of them staring down the mouth of the creature and still not much else. The fangs slid from the gums, pincers wiggling from the pink insides, a testament to how unearthly this thing really was. 

Chris cocked his chin to the side, steeling himself for the fight. “About time you showed your ugly face,” he growled before springing into action, firing into the mouth, knowing their bullets likely wouldn’t break through the scales on the exterior. He felt satisfaction as blood burst from the bullet wounds, enjoying the muted shrieks of the monster’s suffering. It dove down and rushed from the room in an instant, Chris barely able to track the movement, getting down on one knee, hoping he’d be able to feel the thing coming through the ground the next round it made.

“Keep your eyes peeled,” he warned the other two in a low murmur, pressing one gloved hand to the floor. “You can see it if you squint— don’t let it sneak up on you. On me.”

“I got your back, Captain,” Piers said, going down on a knee behind Chris, Marco doing the same, and really— jesus, Piers was saying it _wrong._ Chris ignored the niggling sensation of unfamiliarity as he held his breath again, focused only on the ground beneath his touch, on the sway of the building, the rumble of the world outside, the tremble—

Chris whirled around and shot at a pillar of invisible beast as it burst through the ground and took his bullets beautifully. It was thrown back mid-lunge, hissing wildly as it was injured once again, thrashing against the pain it had to feel. It dropped to the ground and writhed, knocking its head on the concrete, Marco yelping and almost tipping over, but Piers going with the momentum and aiming his sights perfectly, firing a round directly into where Piers must have known the eyeball would be. Liquid, blood, and puss burst and the snake _screamed_ , whipping forward and shoving past them, knocking past carcasses of slaughtered pork and breaking through a ventilation guard, escaping. 

“Nice shot,” Chris said in passing, clapping Piers on the shoulder before dropping onto his chest and crawling into the ventilation shaft. Piers cried out with Marco, the two of them really not adjusting well to Chris’s newfound lack of self preservation. He kept going, pushing himself along with his elbows and the toes of his rubber boots, dead set on turning this thing into a handbag. 

He reached the end, brought himself up, and then instantly rolled, barely avoiding a snap of the fangs, firing as he hit the ground. “Die, you sack of shit!” he almost choked out, grinning bright and feral as the snake thrashed about again as the bullets tore into its soft insides. It broke away from him again, fleeing into the next area, and Chris was after it even as his men only just exited the ventilation shaft. He pushed through the room, shoving past desks and chairs, barely registering he was suddenly in some sort of school as he pursued the monster.

Barely out of the classroom and Chris saw the pink again, lunging for him from the shadows. He launched himself backwards with a swift kick to the ground, landing on his back and elbow and firing into the maw, tasting flecks of infected blood with how close the thing was to entrapping him in its mouth. “Captain!” Piers shouted from behind before a heavy round slammed into the small orifice the tongue protruded from, the snake slamming its head on the ground again as if that was how it coped with pain. It pulled away, sliding across the ground, knocking everything from its path in its retreat and Chris’s dogged pursuit.

He knew they were close— they had to be close.

“Captain, get down!”

Piers’s warning had Chris dropping to the floor, clearing the way for another absolutely gorgeous shot straight into the other eye of this thing. It screamed aloud again and whipped away, breaking through a set of doors and fleeing up a ladder into an unknown area. “After it!” Chris ordered, not even pausing for breath. He lifted himself up to the next level and burst through a doorway onto a ledge, looking around for any sign—

Chris had been standing up tall one second, and the next he was crashing onto a pile of trash below, the air knocked from his lungs. There was the thunk of a heavy weight beside him and Chris looked up, blearily seeing that Piers had fallen with him. He labored to his feet, his arm going around his middle, coughing raggedly as suddenly something hurt. The adrenaline couldn’t be fading already, could it? Then there was a brush of something big and sick against his leg, and Chris looked down to see the creature snake between him and Piers, almost taunting them like it suddenly had the upper hand. As Chris looked up and saw he and Piers were trapped in a rugged alley way with no clear way to higher ground, he realized hat the snake was probably onto something with its newfound confidence. Intelligent little fucker.

“Can’t get a good angle at its mouth,” Piers said, voice strained and rifle uselessly up. “Shit— it’s too low. Captain, what’s the call?”

“Captain!” Chris looked up at Marco’s shout as he took tentative steps back, pulling Piers back with him by the shoulder. “Captain, on the other side! Live wires! I’ve got the plug over here— get that bastard swimming and we can fry it!” Chris could see a faint glow of a green light on the other side of the alley way maze, his gut insisting that was the target.

“You heard the man,” Chris said. “Get up to the control panel and I’ll—“ 

“Fuck that, I’m faster,” Piers interrupted quickly, He suddenly tucked his rifle away, stretching out his limbs, cracking his neck from side to side and bouncing on his toes before giving Chris a two-fingered salute. “Watch my back, Captain.” 

He then darted forward without another word to Chris, giving a wild shout to catch the attention of the snake before turning a sharp corner, being pursued by the shimmering ghost of disease. Chris cursed himself for not being fast enough or able to predict Piers’s equally-destructive tendencies and resigned himself to the safe route, running through the alleys and finding a dumpster to climb up top. He looked down and his breath caught as he witnessed Piers narrowly avoiding the fangs, sprinting along the side of the wall for three steps in a display of shocking dexterity, the snake getting a mouthful of garbage instead as Piers landed solidly on the neck and jumped to the ground, running for the water, playing bait.

A memory clawed at his mind, something horrifying and traumatic that had Chris’s bones rattling beneath his skin. The sensation of separation, of being pulled away from his man— the bright young blue— and being useless on the sidelines when giants were felled. The memory was brief, just a bulbous eyeball in the shoulder of a ruined man slamming a faceless young cop into metal grating, but it was enough to startle Chris, sending him reeling, only brought back by Piers shouting for the snake to keep following him. _Get it together, Officer, focus, Kennedy, stay out of his fucking head._

Chris looked to the controls, knowing he didn’t have time to fuck this up. One button, one lever, one green light telling him he had a shot. He could see the spark of the live wires kissing the reflection of the sky in puddle directly below him, a sizable amount of still-water that would be the death of the beast if he played this right— and the death of his soldier if he played it wrong. He looked across the gap and caught sight of Marco, the soldier given him a thumbs-up, manning the power source. Chris looked down again and saw Piers running for the water, the snake hot at his heels, snapping. And again, Chris held his breath, counting his heartbeats, listening to a gentle voice tell him a date— October second. 

The intrusive thought gave him unexpected peace. He let out a breath and then pulled the lever just as Piers made a flying leap and cleared the puddle, the snake pushing through the waters and only to be violently stilled by volts of power coursing through its body, cooking it from the inside out. It didn’t even scream as it died, jaws clamped shut by the electricity, dropping dead in the water in seconds. Easy as that, the creature was done for, Chris’s men avenged. The creature bubbled and dissolved into thick red ooze as all the other infected did, and Chris took a deep breath, steadied himself, and then dropped down to the lower level, grabbing Leon mid-stride and yanking the man into his chest. 

“We don’t split up,” he said, voice catching, squeezing Leon tight. “This is why we don’t split up.”

There was a pause, a moment where all Chris could hear was his own pulse, and then a voice in his ear, calling out, “Sir?”

Chris pulled away, startled from his head again, seeing Piers and frowning because Piers’s name and face didn’t match— whatever name he’d just thought. What was it again? Levi? 

He let his soldier go, taking a step back, not giving an explanation and hoping Piers would just forget the fuck up as he turned and headed for Marco, struggling to identify the memory and the man. It was pretty disturbing to know his memories were returning only in the face of hell. Was his life really just one endless fight against suffering, dotted with moments of inactivity that probably bored Chris Redfield to death? Was that even a life worth living? Chris— wasn’t entirely sure.

“Good job, Captain!” Marco crowed from above, going down on his stomach and throwing his hand out. “You too, Nivans. Didn’t think you could be that fast outside of a vehicle!”

“Oh I’m chock full of surprised,” Piers drawled behind Chris, a slight southern accent peaking through. Chris took a running start before he jumped and kicked off the wall, grabbing Marco’s hand and helping the man lift him up. As Marco then did the same for Piers, Chris brought up his handheld, grimacing at how it was still too large and bulky in his grip. He kept it up regardless and moved into the next room, eyes peeled. 

“We fried that sonuva bitch,” Marco declared. “Alpha one, monsters zero!”

“Well,” Piers sighed, doubtlessly thinking of the men they’d lost, same as Chris as Chris fought back a grimace, not in the mood to celebrate. “We got it, at least.”

“But no Ada yet,” Chris grumbled, heading up a flight of stairs, back into the complex that was just an amalgamation of rooms, chaotic and reeking of sameness. He was starting to fear he’d gotten lost somewhere along the way, his pursuit of Ada Wong ruined by his inability to navigate the foreign city. He trekked up the stairs and into a room that was all windows, huge, open panes that were basically asking for them to get shot at with literally nothing else in the room at all. Piers and Marco followed him, Marco foolishly heading to one of the windows and peering down like he wanted to enjoy the view, casting a long shadow across the floor against the moonlight that streamed in from above.

“This is crazy,” Piers hissed. “It’s not safe in here, we need to pull out!”

How the hell was this room any less safe than any other room they’d been in all night? Chris turned around to give the kid a look, tired of his second-guessing that seemed more on-and-off than actually useful. Maybe Piers didn’t have a soul in him that could seek peace for the unjust dead through revenge, but Chris couldn’t be satisfied with killing a monster or two. He needed the evil ended at the source— at Ada Wong.

“Nowhere’s safe,” Chris told Piers, frustrated. “Look around you— this place is a war zone with no possibility of negotiations. So what if we pull out? Where would the BSAA send us? Right back in, right back to finish another mission, save another diplomat, save more people.” He looked ahead, suddenly very tired, his ribs aching from the fall earlier. “I was safe, you know. In Edonia. And they sent you to bring me back into something very, very _dangerous._ So I don’t want to hear you preaching about what’s safe and what’s not when you’re the reason I’m here in the first place.”

“The Chris I knew wouldn’t let sleeping dogs lie,” Piers argued. Was that even allowed? Chris distantly remembered getting into some serious trouble for arguing with a superior, though he wasn’t sure when or how, he just knew that he had. “You left the mission unfinished, you left the globe unprotected.” Chris had left Piers— those were the words that were left unsaid by the young man. “I did what I knew the real Chris Redfield would want me to do. Hunt him down and make him finish the fight.”

“And that’s a reasonable excuse for what you’ve done?” Chris demanded. “Taking me from where I was, a country that only showed the evidence of the horror of war, making me fight when I can barely remember my own name?”

“You— you knew your name,” Piers defended, his stance wavering, making Chris wonder if Piers even knew the extent of how bad it still was. “I showed you the pictures. You remember Ada. You remember a lot, Captain, don’t you say you don’t realize what’s going on.”

“What’s going on is I was yanked into this country without anyone bothering to check and see if I still knew how to load a gun.”

Piers’s eyes cut to the handgun in Chris’s grip, simultaneously relieved it was loaded but also probably horrified Chris was right. Not a single person had thought to see if Chris still knew how to operate firearms or get into full gear or even how to tie his fucking shoes, for christ’s sake. Piers took a step back, wetting his lips. “We were desperate.” Chris leveled him with a harsh stare. “ _I_ was desperate,” Piers corrected. “I’d been looking fo six months. All my friends were dead and you were— you were missing. I’d needed to find you.” He looked away. “… I didn’t exactly know you’d be given an operation so quickly. I didn’t think they’d be stupid enough to send you in without even a health eval. I’d just thought— I’d thought they’d be a little more careful.”

“I don’t remember a lot about the BSAA,” Chris told Piers slowly, stiffly. “But what I do remember is the feeling that they really don’t give a shit about me. Or you. Or anyone. Not the big wigs up top. They’d sooner let me die in a war zone with no memory of who I am than have to tell the press and their sponsors they didn’t throw every last man at the enemy like cannon fodder they could.”

“David Trapp cares,” Piers tried to argue. 

“David Trapp—” Fuck, which one was David Trapp? Why did the name turn Chris’s gut? “— I don’t know who that is, but I don’t think I have good reason to trust him as far as I can throw him either.”

“Well what do you want, Captain!?” Piers asked, brow twisted. “We’re here! We’re in the middle of this and I can’t stop it! I can’t get us out of here! You’re the one who won’t stop running into firefights and dangerous situations! You can put this on me all you want, but the op we showed up for is completed. You’re the one dragging us deeper into this godforsaken city out of some twisted vendetta!”

“So what, those six miserable months, alone and surrounded by the ghosts of your dead friends— that didn’t make you angry? That didn’t make you want to kill Ada Wong?” Chris sneered. “The death count climbs but you really don’t give a shit about who did it? You just keep bringing more in to die for the cause and never stop the people who take the lives of good men?!”

“I want her dead, but I don’t wanna lose you or anyone else to that vendetta!” Piers’s voice broke at the end. “I want that bitch six feet under, Captain, you have no idea how badly I want her gone for what she’s done! But it’s not worth killing her if I only lose you again in the process!”

“You’re gonna lose me whether you want to or not if you think I can really survive this kind of hell on earth without—”

Chris’s outburst was interrupted by a garbled cry from Marco, the both of them whirling around and watching in dismay as Marco staggered to the left, clutching what looked like a syringe in his neck, choking on his own tongue. Despair swam through Chris in the face of his failure, registering moments before pure, unadulterated rage as he caught sight of the woman on the windowsill.

Ada fucking Wong.

“Looking for me, boys?” She looked at them from over her shoulder, her gun in the air, a smirk on her painted lips. “Welcome to China.” Then she dropped out of the window and out of sight, her laughter remaining like poison in the air.

“Ada!” Chris shouted, yanking his gun up and sprinting for the window, but skidding to a halt when Piers grabbed him and Chris caught sight of what was happening to Marco, the man wheezing and clutching at his throat and staggering, reaching for Chris and then—

Melted, he fucking melted like he was made of wax, a cocoon of disease spreading across his body and sealing him shut, encasing Chris’s man in a tomb made of his own skin. Chris couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think past his failure, past the death he’d witnessed, past the people he’d lost—

He heard the shift of mechanical parts and looked up to see Piers pointing his gun at Marco. “Wait!” Chris cried out, putting a hand out, trying to keep Piers from doing something he’d regret. What if there was an antidote, what if Marco was still inside and clinging to life, _what if he could be saved?_

“We’ve got no choice,” Piers said, voice scratching with his expression hard. “We’ve got to kill him!”

Piers hesitated.

Then he stepped forward. And so did Chris. Chris slammed the muzzle of Piers’s gun down, forcing the man back. “He’d do the same for us!” Piers shouted, but Chris could see it, could almost taste the agony in Piers’s eyes, the burn of loss in a soul that was far too young to be seeing such a terrible world and making such cruel decisions. But the brown wasn’t right, the eyes were supposed to be blue, and Chris was starting to shake, confused and scratching at the surface of so many memories that alluded him like his fingers slipping through fog.

Then there was the crack of a shell— Marco was hatching.

Chris looked back in time to see what had to be insects— wasps or flies or locust or _something_ — thousands of them breaking free of the cocoon and filling the air, like liquid with how many there were and how thick of a wall they made with their bodies. Panic filled Chris and he had his own gun up before he could think twice, firing into the swarm wildly, relieved that Piers was behind him and not getting in the way. Some awful part of himself insisted he was lucky that this mutation wasn’t even slightly human, wasn’t even remotely Marco. Some awful part of himself was relieved that he wouldn’t have to look into Marco’s face before putting him down— so that Piers wouldn’t have to do it for him, a solitary shot that echoed through the lobby of a police department, a man who had given Chris a mug, dropping dead at his feet.

The swarm conglomerated in areas, dark masses of them that pressed together and squirmed, easy targets, Chris cutting away through the meat of the worst of it. The bodies of these insects slapped uselessly at his skin and clothes, none of them able to penetrate and leave a real mark even though he could feel the minute tug of stingers that he would swat at. Whatever Marco had become died quickly, the buzzing of thousands of wings fading to a whisper, Chris’s skin crawling. Piers spat on the ground next to him, wiping at his lips with the back of his hand, the kid paler than Chris had seen him. All those men— 

Chris suddenly remembered something. He’d been knocked out by what had become of his team all those months ago back in Edonia— he’d failed to make the shot. Did that mean Piers had been the one to put down every single one of their team members? All by himself? Chris stared at the kid that was brushing the carcasses of insects from his gear and prayed that hadn’t happened to Piers.

“Look,” Piers said, his throat raw. “His C4— guess the virus can only turn organic matter.”

Chris nodded numbly, still staring at Piers. “That’s normally how it goes.”

Piers glanced to him, something guarded in his expression. He quickly looked away from Chris and collected the satchel charge of C4, handing it to him. “She couldn’t have gotten far.” Chris now stared at the C4 in his hand and realized he was holding the last of his team in his palm— the last of the men he’d been assigned the lives of to protect. “Maybe we can—”

Chris turned away from Piers suddenly, marching to the only way forth— a set of old, rusted doors, the only way out of here. He pressed the C4 to the hinges and backed off, blowing the door and not even flinching as the heavy metal was flung back at him from ricochet. Chris stomped down the dark hall, murderous intent filling his veins. Not only had Ada Wong killed his men in Edonia, had a hand in the infection of an entire city, killed Marco right in front of Chris like she was playing a sick game, but she’d made Piers live through it all. Blue eyes were haunting Chris, the rage boiling over, fury at these people putting good people into terrible situations that they never, ever deserved to suffer. _Piers Kennedy didn’t deserve to be in this place_ — he didn’t deserve to be involved with any of this.

Chris couldn’t keep it in— he slammed his fist against the wall, stifling a scream.

“Chris,” Piers said, his tone a warning. “We need to remain calm.”

“After what she’s done to us?” Chris turned to face the kid, breathing carefully, telling himself not to get too close lest he hurt the other. “How many of our men are dead because of that bitch?!”

“I’m right there with you, Captain, but your personal vendetta isn’t going to get us anywhere!” Chris’s expression twisted as Piers’s words sunk in. “If you hadn’t been so blinded by vengeance, we could have prevented some of those deaths!”

Chris had to turn away. There was something _wrong_ with the hammering in his chest. “Shut up.”

He heard footsteps approach him. Piers was closer, which really was a fucking mistake. “Do you even care about our mission anymore?”

The mission?

The mission that had taken everything from Chris? The mission that had him bringing home bodybags rather than true success, that had him laying awake at night, scared of the monsters he was expecting to find in the shadows, the mission that had turned Chris’s own friends against him? The mission that had dimmed those blue eyes into gray—

Chris’s heart suddenly _hurt._ “Shut up!” he shouted far too loud, needing Piers to stop because he was scratching at the surface of a memory, but this one felt like it was going to kill him. Palpitations, a cold sweat breaking on his skin, something like a panic attack tugging at his respiratory system— if he remembered whatever this was, he was going to collapse and never get back up again.

Piers’s voice suddenly pierced the waves of anxiety. “I feel sorry for all the men that died believing in you!”

Chris grabbed Piers by the shoulders, shoving him against the wall, his mind telling him distantly that he didn’t need to ask for permission to touch this fucking _asshole_. But Piers shoved him back, either taking advantage of how shaken Chris was right now or not even noticing that Chris wasn’t even putting his heart into this. “What happened to the legendary Chris Redfield, huh?” Someone died, the blue eyes, they’d died— “What happened to you?!”

Chris couldn’t even defend himself even though he knew that— that he had never asked to be here. He had never wanted to lose his memory. And he—

He had _never_ asked a single man to ever die for him. They’d all done that themselves, leaving him to linger on, clinging to ghosts and mourning a body count that never stopped growing. He’d never asked anyone to die for him. He’d never wanted it. Everyone— everyone had died anyways without even bothering to ask Chris if he wanted them stay more than he wanted to have another useless mission success wilting in his file.

“It’s a good thing Finn’s not around to see you this way.”

How could Piers have brought Chris back into this cold, cold, brutal world?

Piers stared into Chris like he was hoping his savagery had gotten through to Chris. Was he fucking stupid? Chris pushed him away hard, suddenly wishing he was alone. “I’m going after Ada.” That was the only option he had left. He walked away from Piers, praying the kid just stayed the hell away from him. Chris pressed into comms. “HQ, this is Alpha Leader. I need a location on Ada Wong.”

“I’m going with you.”

Chris’s head snapped back to see that fucking asshole watching him. “Someone’s gotta keep an eye on you whether you want them to or not” Piers said, once again taking Chris’s right to a choice from his hands and crumbling it up in his face. The anger was boiling again, but Chris wanted it to boil over only for Ada. He turned away from Piers, having enough of his high standards for Chris and his inability to understand the extent of Chris’s memory loss. It was starting to feel like Piers didn’t even give a shit about Chris— he only cared about what Chris could do for him.

Chris turned away again, his boots heavy on the ground. He wished Piers would just abandon him already so Chris could get his work done and stop wishing for blue in that stupid brown.

He hated that he heard Piers’s footsteps following him not a moment later.

_“This is HQ! We’ve got a location for you.”_ Finally— someone fucking useful. “Ada Wong has left the city and is heading for the south harbor.” There was a filter of static, then a voice again. _“HQ to all teams. Ada Wong has been spotted, heading south for the harbor. We want her alive.”_

Chris was going to just ignore that last part. He pushed open the door at the bottom of the steps he’d climbed down, heading out into the open streets of China once more, the salty wind of the ocean hitting him. Piers was right behind him and Chris— was pissed. “You wanna follow me around? Fine.” He didn’t even look back at him. “Just make sure you stay outta my way.”

“As long as you don’t cross the line again, that won’t be a problem.” What line? What line had there been for Chris to waltz across? This was a fucking war and Chris didn’t even remember enlisting. “Ada’s just playing with you. When are you going to realize that?”

“I’m not stupid enough to fall for her bullshit,” Chris defended, frustrated with how little Piers apparently thought of him. Chris knew exactly what it felt like to be played with. “You should have a little more faith in your captain.”

The docks were just outside— thank whichever god there was for the small blessing of location. Chris wasn’t sure how close they were to the south harbor, but they were close to water, which was good enough for him. He peered out at the black waters and the abandoned boats that bobbed woefully with the waves, Chris not hesitating as he took a flying leap from the deck he’d come out onto to land on one of the back of the boats that swayed heavily beneath his feet, but he righted instinctively, knowing how to handle a boat. Most of these crafts were just slabs of wood atop buoying barrels, barely even rafts. There was a bridge to their left that the waters went beneath, four characters across it that Chris couldn’t read. He wondered if Piers knew Chinese or if the BSAA had really just sent soldiers in blind. 

There was a rumble and Chris looked up to see the subway was still running, crossing the bridge like the entire world was still going on as normal. It reminded him that he was coming back out onto the streets and into a war zone. He kept his sights up as he leaped again for the dock, watching for more infected. Everything was a little too quiet, but he hadn’t really expected the fight to reach this far into the outskirts.

He leaped for the next set of boats, widening his stance to go with the sway, glancing back and not surprised to see Piers wobble as he landed on another raft just behind. Catching sea-legs wasn’t something that could be learned overnight. Chris turned ahead and ignored the young man, unable to swallow down the bitter taste in his mouth. They were reaching the end of the mess of boats, heading to a break in the water, and Chris chose to focus on that instead. he jogged forward, keeping his footing light beneath him, rocking with the boats, and climbed onto a solid dock, heading up the line of it to see what was in the waters beyond—

Chris yanked up his gun, sneering at the sight of the woman in the blu with the crimson red scarf sitting pretty atop a jet-ski. “Ada!” he shouted, aiming his sights at her head, hearing a helicopter nearby and knowing he was breeding headfirst into bad situation. A spotlight swung into his vision and he flinched back, a hand on his shoulder pulling him away as well.“Captain, get ahold of yourself!” Piers shouted urgently in his ear. “That helo’s about to open up on us!”

Out of the light, Chris squinted against the piercing white and saw the helicopter Piers was talking about. Another behemoth of an arial weapon, a testament to this war being funded by some real big players, and with the railgun aimed right for them. Chris was foolishly out in the open and he’d dragged Piers out here with him. No choice now. 

Against his better judgement, Chris dropped his gun, grabbed Piers by the vest, and made a break for it. He sprinted across the line of the dock that led back to the solid ground of the city, losing sight of Ada Wong and— for once— not giving a shit. Heavy fire smattered the water and the wooden dock behind them, splinters flying in the air and grazing his exposed skin. He yanked Piers forward, throwing him ahead to make sure he was in the lead, the two of them running as fast as they could to some sort of cover. Piers was barely keeping his footing, Chris pushing him forward as Piers felt behind with the wobbling ground. Then there was a muted thump and a wave of _heat_ , some sort of rocket hitting just behind them. “You gotta be kidding me!” Piers cried out, sounding younger than ever and looking over his shoulder.

Chris shoved him forward again, knowing that looking back would be what killed them. “Less talking, more running!” He ordered. “Head for that building ahead!” It was huge and intimidating, like a concrete block was just dropped onto the ground, featureless and likely impenetrable. “Get inside!” he shouted at Piers as more heat slapped the back of his neck, another projectile making waves. Piers stumbled again and Chris passed him without meaning to, barely catching Piers by the shoulder and pulling him desperately along. 

The dock rocked dangerously beneath their feet and Chris could feel it losing its structure. The building was just ahead now, he could see a way in, a way into safety. Just a few more feet and they’d be inside, they could make it, _Chris knew they could make it._ With a final burst of energy, his legs screaming in pain for how rigorously he was pumping them in his dead sprint, he flung Piers forward. Piers hit the concrete wall hard, and Chris stopped for only a second to drive his heel into the door, flinging it open so he could grab Piers one last time and fall into the building with him. 

As Piers dropped onto the floor, Chris shoved the doors shut again, his back to the metal, holding his breath for a split second before managing a grin as bullets distantly hit the wall of the building, but couldn’t penetrate. Whoever had made this place had been ready for some sort of attack and had taken every measure to ensure the building itself would remain standing. Chris took a step back and rolled his shoulders, relieved that they’d made it.

“Think this is where they’ve been developing the C-virus?”

Piers’s gasped words had Chris looking away from the door and around the actual building itself. There was a sign by the door, a plaque with Chinese characters emblazoned on the front with “Vinci Medical Research Center” below it in English. Chris’s skin crawled at the implications, suddenly remembering underground labs and sterile white walls that gave him the creeps. He could hear this weird, vague clicking in the back of his head and the smell of something burning. Chris shuddered and shook himself. 

“Doesn’t matter,” he said stiffly, checking over his gun to make sure nothing had been knocked around in their mad dash. “On your feet, soldier. We’re not done yet.”

Piers groaned, and glass shattered. Chris whipped around, going down on a knee and grabbed for Piers, tugging the man urgently behind him even as Piers struggled onto his feet as well, rifle coming up to aim at whatever was in here with them. 

The area was just huge and open with metal causeways like construction ramps edging the walls, what looked like more rooms up above. There was a shattered window on the level above, a figure standing smoothly, _a crimson scarf fluttering in a gentle breeze._

“Ada!” he bellowed, squeezing his trigger before he could even consider ricochet. His bullets hit the wall behind her, Ada Wong reacting quickly and aiming some sort of convoluted grappling hook at the ceiling, lifting herself into the air and swinging gracefully away. Chris cursed as she disappeared from sight _again,_ Chris turning his gun to the ground aggressively, gritting his teeth. “You can’t run forever,” he growled, feeling Piers’s eyes on him and ignoring the sensation. “We need to catch her— let’s move!”

“Alpha team to HQ, we are in pursuit of Ada Wong!” Piers called into comms as Chris started a brisk jog, his legs protesting the exertion. HQ didn’t respond and Chris had a bad feeling they were officially alone in here.

He moved into the facility, mindless of the dangers regardless of being cut off from the BSAA. The whole place felt empty and cold, their footsteps and heavy breaths echoing against metal and wall, the grating beneath their feet clanging with every step. He passed what looked like surgical equipment coupled with tubes of a clear, blue liquid, masses of flesh floating listlessly for observation. As Chris turned a corner and saw an elevator arrive with a ding and the swing of the doors, his instincts leading him through the maze, Chris heard a voice off in the distance.

_“We’re not alone in here.”_

Chris suddenly skidded to a halt, the timeliness of the elevator lost to him for a moment. 

That voice—

“Captain?”

Chris blinked through the sudden haze in his mind and turned to see Piers at his left, the young man watching him with cautious concern. Chris shook himself again and didn’t say a word, stealing his jaw even as his entire body began to coil tight, anticipation hammering in his chest in a way it never had before.

That voice. How did he knew that voice? It wasn’t even a question of if he knew the voice or not, it was just a question of _how._ It was the first thing Chris had ever seen or heard or felt that actually felt _familiar._ Even Sherry and Albert’s faces hadn’t come close to the way Chris’s body was responding to this voice, a man’s voice, dulcet tones giving a casual statement that should have carried a weight of alarm, but somehow at ease. Another soldier? An ally? Or was it—

Was it something more?

_“Probably whoever was shooting at Ada. One more thing to worry about.”_

_Not an ally._

That was a different voice, a woman, likely someone on Ada’s side judging by her words, someone who would be standing in Chris’s way. He grit his teeth again and sprinted for the elevator, now seeing another target to take down. Something above caught his eye— Ada Wong was standing high above them, watching Chris like he was a rat navigating a maze.

_“Glad you could stop in,”_ she drawled, her voice projected over some kind of sound system. _“Like what I’ve done with the place?”_ She laughed and turned away from them, flippant in her retreat.

Chris ignored the bitch and slid into the elevator, keeping his sights up to cover Piers as the kid joined him. The elevator lurched only a few seconds later and lifted them up to a door that read Level 01. Chris and Piers pushed the buttons on the sides of the door in unison, allowing them entrance to the new floor. 

There was the strangest green mist wafting through the air and Chris didn’t like it one bit. “What the hell is this?” Piers asked.

“Keep your eyes peeled,” Chris said in lieu of a legitimate answer. How was he supposed to know what this shit all was? “Who knows what that bitch has in store.”

There were more huge test tubes, these filled with more of that quivering gas. He couldn’t see much inside of it, the gas itself thick like a fog. He was concerned about breathing it in, unsure of it being another form of the C-virus. It was hard to believe so many insurgents could have been infected through injection alone. Production on that level just wasn’t cost effective. Chris didn’t know enough. 

He walked carefully through the room, listening for those new voices and signs of Ada. She had to be up on this level considering how high up she’d been before. He went to the only door that led out of the room and pushed at it, but frowned when there was no give, glaring at the red pillar of light on the wall beside it, knowing red meant locked. He tried his shoulder next, scowling when the door refused to budge. “We’re locked in,” he told Piers, turning to look to the kid when something through the tubes caught his eye.

There was a man on the other side.

It was a fleeting glimpse, a blink of an image through a momentary lift in the heaviness of the shifting gas, but just enough time to give Chris a general idea of what he was seeing. A man, tall, fit, blond. He was armed and he was holding his gun at the ground rather than up at the dangerous equipment, meaning he was someone who was trained. That was all Chris could gleam and yet—

He wondered if that was the man who’d he’d heard the voice of. The man’s whose words had sent Chris’s heart into palpitations. Chris didn’t know who this man was and couldn’t get more of a glimpse of him, but he knew, instinctively, that this man was dangerous to him. 

_“We’ve been conducting such fascinating work here.”_

Ada’s voice suddenly drifted through the speakers, setting Chris immediately on edge, his gun up and pointing at corners like shooting a camera would be the same as shooting the woman.

_“Countless months of experimentation and trial and error, developing new weapons for the new world— it’s like playing god. I can see why so many have fallen victim to the appeal of weapon production. There’s nothing more exhilarating than imagining the countless lives your genius will claim.”_

“Captain, I’ve got a circuit box.” Chris tore his attention from Ada to Piers, watching the man pull open the front panel of said circuit box and start fiddling with the wires. “If I can just—”

_“Security breach detected in room one.”_

“— Got it!”

The lights next to the door went green. Chris managed a grin, for once relieved to have Piers with him.

_“Security breach detected in room zero.”_

Chris’s gaze then snapped to the room next to them, where the blond was. He still couldn’t see anything through the gas and his hands were starting to feel clammy. That familiar sensation of anxiety was pulling at his chest, that fear he’d felt before when Piers had asked him about the mission. He was finding it difficult to breathe.

_“Disengaging locks in room one.”_

_“Disengaging locks in room zero.”_

“Let’s move,” Chris ordered, shoving down the fear for as long as he could. “There’s no time to waste.”

_“Someone doesn’t want us to be catching Ada— she might not be working alone.”_

That was— the man. The man’s voice was saying that. Were these people not with Ada? “Who the hell is that?” Piers asked him, his brow furrowed. “That voice sounds familiar.”

“Shut up,” Chris choked out before he could stop himself, his heart _pounding._

“Captain?” Piers followed Chris, quickening his pace to catch up and get a view of Chris’s expression. Chris knew he was paler than he should be. “Captain, is something wrong? You don’t look so good. Are you alright?”

Chris swallowed hard and, for some reason, replied, “Peachy.” The word itself felt wrong on his lips, but he ignored that too, jogging ahead, needing forward progress and needing that rage back before he had a full blown panic attack. He hadn’t had one of those since waking up in Edonia.

The next room was just as huge as the entrance, an industrial sized area with metal scaffolding criss crossing along the sides. There was a hole in the grating in front of them. Chris and Piers shared a nod, then dropped down as one, Chris hitting the ground running with his gun ready when he saw Ada at the end of the long, long causeway in front of him. “Give it up, Ada!” he shouted. “You can’t keep running!”

“Aw, is the big bad soldier going to shoot me?” Ada asked before darting to the left and running out of sight. Chris rounded the corner only seconds after, skidding to a halt when he was met with fog. “It’s been fun,” Ada hummed from within the thick mist. “Ciao!” There was the whizz of that accused grappling hook before a dark shadow was yanked to the left in front of Chris, Ada vaulting herself across the area. 

“Don’t lose her!” Chris shouted to Piers as he barreled down the hall, heading for the huge paned windows Ada had landed in front of. 

“I won’t!” Piers shouted back, following Chris in dead pursuit.

“Ada!” Chris shouted after her, wanting her to be afraid of him, wanting her to fear his encroaching wrath. 

_“Your friend is playing hard to get!”_ came a female voice from across the area, the female voice of before. _“She always like this?”_

“Piers!” Chris shouted before reeling back and throwing his shoulder into a door between of him and those windows, between him and Ada. “Cut her off!” Chris and Piers broke away, Piers heading down the left side and Chris going ahead, planning to corner Ada Wong in front of the massive windows where she wouldn’t be able to use cheap tricks to keep them away. Gunfire spattered as Ada began to run away from them, a briefcase Chris hadn’t noticed before in her hand. More bullets, and then Ada was skidding to a halt, stopped in her tracks by Piers coming in from the shadows. Chris came up behind her, a thrill running through him at the knowledge that it was finally over. Ada looked to him and Chris couldn’t keep back a grin. Ada looked at him, not saying a word— then she looked _past_ Chris and gave him a smirk of her own.

A palm was suddenly slamming into Chris’s stock, sending the muzzle sharply to the left, Chris pulling the trigger on reflex and hitting the wall. His ACR itself went flying, hitting the far railing, dropping out of reach. Chris hadn’t heard this person approach, _how had he not heard their approach?_ It didn’t matter as Chris recovered quickly, grabbing the hand that went for his handgun on his hip, knocking it away and throwing a sharp punch at the figure that ducked smoothly, going low and throwing their leg out in a roundhouse kick with far too much grace. Chris barely ducked out of the way of that long leg, swinging around and throwing an elbow that was caught, the arms between them obscuring the face of his assailant, only the quiet grunts of exertion telling Chris he was fighting a man. _A very quiet, very fast, very skilled man._

Chris grabbed one of the arms and then the shoulder and pulled the man down, slamming his knee up into the solar plexus and relishing the gasp that left this man. He were wearing a bullet proof vest under some sort of dress shirt, an odd thing to be wearing at all in a combat zone. He slammed his knee into the stomach again, but was blocked, the man spinning and throwing Chris off, swinging a loose arm that left him wide open. Chris went low and grabbed the man’s lithe waist, digging his boots in and running while pushing, trying to bring the man to the ground or lift him. But the man kept his footsteps light and took Chris’s full weight only to use it against him, turning them in circles and slamming his elbow into Chris’s back, into the vest. Was he—

Was this guy not actually trying to hurt him?

Chris didn’t care as the man’s arm went around his neck and tried to bring him down, Chris being forced t lean into the man’s waist and push him back, grabbing an arm again and twisting it behind the man’s back, pinning it to his chest. Chris was behind him, keeping the man’s body tight against his own, feeling him try to squirm away against Chris’s hips. Chris was momentarily bombarded with suddenly pleasurable gratification that he couldn’t actually describe. His lapse in control gave the man time to yank his left arm free and whirl around Chris, wrapping his arm around Chris’s neck in a far-too-loose chokehold. 

He really wasn’t trying to hurt Chris. What the hell?

It didn’t matter— it only meant that Chris was going to win. He threw off the chokehold and dropped forward, throwing the man over his back and across the floor. The man skidded across the grating and pulled a handgun on Chris. Chris heard the scrape of the metal parts and pulled out his 909, hating how small it felt as his sights faced down—

That was his gun.

A Beretta 92F Custom Samurai Edge, crafted by Joseph Kendo of Kendo Firearms in Raccoon City, made specifically for the Special Tactics And Rescue Services of the Raccoon City Police Department. The gun itself was shining in the neon light of the city behind the paned window beside him, barely a scratch on it, the carved initials S.T.A.R.S. visible in the limelight. Chris stared at the weapon, distinctly remembering the last time he was forced to look down the barrel of his own gun. It was in Spain, the rain pouring down around him, soaking him to the bone. The person holding the gun had pierced him with endless blue eyes. 

Chris looked up from the gun into those very same blue eyes that were regarding him with shock. Chris wet his lips and felt like he was dying.

The blue eyed man spoke. “Chris?”

He knew that voice— Chris couldn’t _fucking breathe._ He shook hard, visibly, and watched something flare in those blue eyes. Blue eyes belonging to a young officer full of hope, blue eyes that belonged to a broken man losing everything, blue eyes that whispered he was loved. Blue eyes belonging to— 

“Leon?” What was happening? How did Chris know this man? He had all of these clipped memories, all of this flashes of pain and heartache and affection, and yet none of them actually told him anything about what Leon was, but— “What are you doing here?!” Leon wasn’t supposed to be here, it wasn’t safe, it wasn’t _fair._

“I—”

Footsteps clattered behind Chris, gasping breath making him look away from Leon and over his shoulder at a young woman with deep, brow eyes and brunette hair. She glanced to Leon then to Chris again, and Piers’s grip on his gun tightened. 

“Chris,” Leon called out, forcing Chris’s eyes on him again. Fuck, Chris had never seen anything so _blue._ “You’re— you’re alive?”

Should he not be?

Behind Leon, Piers suddenly jumped. “A-Agent Kennedy,” he called out, wincing when Leon flinched. “I’m sorry, he’s been in Edonia. BSAA had me bring him in immediately.”

Leon cut his eyes to Piers sharply. _“Why didn’t anyone tell me he’s alive?”_

Oh god, Leon’s expression was _wrecked._ Chris fought the instinct to stomp forward and drag Leon into his arms because he didn’t even know the instinct at all. Were he and Leon friends? Were they partners? That would explain why Piers was talking to this agent so semi-formally, but if that were the case, then why was Leon standing between him and Ada? Chris didn’t know what the fuck was happening and he was scared, so he pushed past it, ignored the piercing agony in his chest, and took a step forward towards Ada.

Leon took a step to the side, standing again between Chris and his target. “Put the gun down, Chris.” There were tears in his eyes. “She’s a key witness, we need her.”

“A witness?!” Oh thank god, the anger was back. Ada wasn’t a witness, she wasn’t going to be given protection, she’d murdered Chris’s entire team. If Leon was _anyone_ to Chris, then he would understand. “She’s the one who did all this!”

Leon flinched from how loud Chris’s voice was— Chris didn’t know how he knew that, but he just did. Then Leon cocked his chin to the side like he was recovering. “No,” he told Chris firmly. “It wasn’t her, it was Simmons, the National Security Advisor.”

Chris really, really wanted to put his gun down, but he couldn’t. “I lost all of my men because of her!”

_“And I lost over seventy-thousand people— including the president— because of Simmons!”_ Leon’s outburst nearly had Chris reeling, his mind screaming at him for making Leon so upset. This was wrong, this was so fucking wrong, they shouldn’t be pointing their weapons at each other, they shouldn’t be at odds. Chris could see Leon’s hands shaking and he knew, somehow, that this was hurting Leon just as much as it was hurting him. More than anything, Chris wanted to put his gun down and ask Leon who he was, but the ghosts of his men— the sight of his soldiers reaching out for him to be saved, frozen in cocoons— wouldn’t let him. 

Chris swallowed hard and tried to be strong. “She’s working for Neo-Umbrella, you know what that means?” Because Chris didn’t. He didn’t even know why the very word umbrella had him tensing for a fight.

Leon, though, nodded. “Yeah,” he said softly. “I do. Chris— I know where you’re coming from. I know you’re hurting and I know you’re seeing Raccoon City in every fire in this place, I know you’re seeing Branagh and your friends, but we can’t allow these people to get away by firing blind.”

Chris’s brow twisted in confusion. “Branagh?” He ran through a list of all the men he’d lost today and none of them had a name like that. 

Surprisingly, Leon looked just as confused as him. “You don’t—”

“It’s retrograde amnesia from a head injury he sustained in Edonia six months ago,” Piers suddenly said, Leon whipping around to look to Piers in genuine disbelief. Piers’s expression was twisted with something like grief. “I’m sorry, Agent Kennedy. I don’t even think he remembers Claire.”

Leon’s blue eyes snapped back to Chris, horrified, scanning Chris up and down like he thought he could physically see the memory loss. _“What the hell is he doing in the field, Nivans?!”_

“Captain!”

Piers’s sudden shout startled Chris and he stared numbly as he watched Ada Wong pull something from behind her back, a canister that was tossed to the floor. In slow motion, Chris watched Leon spin around and back up, putting his body between Chris and Ada, but this time, the other way around. Leon put an arm back and his other arm up, shielding Chris with his own person as the world suddenly went white, Chris’s breath seizing in his chest when he heard Leon cry out. 

The light faded— Ada Wong was gone. Chris heard the sound of a cable retracting and looked up to see Ada swinging across the ceiling, landing on the floor below and fleeing the scene with her briefcase in hand. Piers’s gun spattered bullets down at her feet, but he never landed a shot. “Dammit!” the young man shouted before breaking away, heading down the causeway after her. 

The woman behind Chris ran past him, pursuing Piers, but Leon stopped her by throwing out his arm again, shouting her name. “Helena!”

“He’s gonna kill her!” she argued.

Chris scooped up his ACR, knowing he couldn’t leave Piers alone to this. He tried to get past the other two, but was stopped by a gloved hand on his shoulder. “Chris, wait.”

God above, Leon was so close, just inches from Chris’s face, and Chris had an intrusive thought, a voice demanding he kiss the blond. Why— why would Chris kiss another man? He’d never looked at men before. Or had he? The photo in his back pocket—

Chris’s brow pinched, the pain of not knowing and the confusion muddling his thoughts. He suddenly felt like he was going to be sick. A flurry of emotion passed through Leon’s face, and he seemed to take notice of Chris’s distress. He took a step back— Chris _hated_ that he took a step back and he didn’t know why. _He was so tired of not knowing why._

Leon’s blue eyes were staring at him with something like heartache. “I— I’m so happy you’re alive.”

That hadn’t been what Chris was expecting to hear. Maybe some sort of outburst or an attempt to reason with Chris, trying to pull at Chris’s sense of justice or whatever. He hadn’t been expecting such an honest admission. Something so _intimate._ “Chris,” Leon began again. “I know you’re angry. I know you’re hurting. But I know what you’re like— and I know you’re not the type of man to act like this. Act so senselessly. I know— I know you.”

Chris stared back into him. “… Do you?”

Tears brimmed in Leon’s eyes again and Chris was inexplicably furious with himself for hurting Leon like this. “I do,” he said, throat strangled with emotion. “I do, Chris, better than most. So trust me when I tell you that you will find peace for your men and you will find peace for yourself. But we can’t do that for everyone— for the _seventy-thousand_ lost in Tall Oaks— if you kill Ada Wong. Okay?” Leon’s hand moved forward, but then stopped. It was like he’d been reaching for Chris before he’d thought twice about it. “I need her alive. I’m begging you— let me have the same peace you’re looking for. Let me avenge the people I’ve lost too.”

Chris— wanted to give Leon that peace more than he’d ever wanted anything else. More than he wanted to end these viruses, more than he wanted to avenge his men, more than he wanted to kill Ada Wong. He wanted to give Leon what Leon asked of him— no matter the cost. 

Chris swallowed hard, looking to where Piers had stalled and was waiting for him. The young man was actually being patient. Piers knew who Leon was to Chris, to some extent. Chris needed to know now more than ever. But he looked to Leon one last time— wished he could drown in those blue eyes forever— and asked one thing that he knew would give him enough answers for now. 

“Leon,” he murmured, voice scraping at the edges of tortured. “On me?”

Leon visibly trembled, his breath catching, those tears threatening to overflow. Leon nodded, a stilted, jerky thing, before lifting his hand and resting it on Chris’s shoulder. He parted his lips, delicate and revering, and whispered, “On you.”

Something in Chris’s broken mind slid back into place. As he stared into those blue eyes and heard those words, he saw a cop, a government agent, a father, a fighter, all rolled into one, into this man before him, tall and formidable and supporting Chris with his gaze alone. Chris still didn’t know him— he was suddenly terrified of the possibility that he never really would. But he also knew that Leon was what he should be fighting for. Not revenge, not the death of a villain, not even the world— Leon was what he always had and always would be fighting for.

“I’ll make it back to you,” Chris promised as he moved towards Piers, but walked backwards, facing Leon until the last minute. “I— I will.”

Leon, somehow, smiled. It was a wretched little thing but so fucking beautiful in the neon light. “October second?”

Jesus— Leon was somehow _everything_ and Chris didn’t even know who he was. “Yeah,” he said, knowing the date even if he didn’t know the why behind its existence. “I’ll be there, Leon— I promise you, I will see you again.”

Leon nodded, unable to say more. Chris had to turn away and run for Piers, avoiding the way Piers watched him with pity, his entire being thrumming with a mixture of pain and reason. It didn’t matter how much it hurt—

Chris wasn’t going to let Leon down ever again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thank y'all so much for your comments ;u; I love and appreciate every single one and I know I don't deserve them. thank you for giving me your time in letting me know your thoughts!!! I hope you enjoyed this chap :)


	7. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was wrong we probably have 3-4 chaps left *from this point* I'm sorry I have no self control and endless writing stamina it's a curse
> 
> a lot of Shit Happens in this chapter like
> 
> a lot

The thrum of the airliner engine would almost lull Leon to sleep if he weren’t completely unable to sleep on planes. They’d never felt safe to him, never felt absolutely secure, and there was something distinctly terrifying about falling into a false sense of security at thirty-thousand feet. He wasn’t about to be caught with his pants down so to speak, if the plane suddenly started to pitch and everything went topside. Leon would prefer a few hours of lost sleep over dropping out of the sky. 

Not that this plane was going to drop out of the sky, knock on wood.

Leon stared out the window at the approaching twinkling lights of what was left of Lanshiang, the dark ocean spreading directly below. There was more than just the artificial lighting— even from here, Leon could see the flames of destruction burning brighter than the electricity. BSAA was boots on the ground and Leon hoped he wouldn’t run into any of them. He didn’t think he could handle seeing the globe emblazoned on any man’s shoulder right now without suffering some sort of mental breakdown. Simmons was his enemy, Ada was keeping secrets, Adam was dead— if this day somehow got any worse, Leon knew his heart wasn’t going to be able to take it.

Lightning flashed. Leon flinched and instantly chided himself for it. When was he ever going to get lucky enough to watch the world end _without_ the lightning?

“We just entered Chinese airspace.”

Leon glanced to the left to see Helena sit down across from him into the aisle seat, presumably as far from Leon as she could get. He wondered if she kept her distance for her sake or his own? Or maybe she was just a lot like him and far too paranoid to be anywhere but the aisle seat in case of an emergency.

“Good,” he said softly, relieved to have a purpose again despite the circumstances. It was hard ignoring his own fucked up head when he didn’t have something in front of him to run at. He paused when he saw Helena clutching her head, the woman dressed more combat-appropriately now in a vest and cargo pants, gloves on her hands. Leon had his own gloves back on and was relieved for the additional barrier between him and the horrible world. Leon sat forward, wanting Helena to see he actually cared when he asked, “How’re you holding up?”

Helena dropped her hand to the table and faced him in the bright light of the overhead console. “Why didn’t you turn me in? You could have cleared your name.”

She was ignoring his question. “Maybe,” Leon admitted, knowing his real reason behind not turning her in was far more complex than he had time to explain. “But it wouldn’t have stopped Simmons.” Helena shook her head and Leon felt a little sorry for her. She was too young for this. “Besides,” he added softly. “You’re starting to grow on me a little bit.”

Helena looked up at him sharply, visibly surprised by his words. What, Agent Kennedy couldn’t have a heart? Leon knew he was— callous to an extent, but he liked to think that once a person proved his or herself to be reliable, Leon would trust them with more than a few inches. 

“Am I?” she asked, her words a little lackadaisical, like she was playing along with a light amount of banter. “Sure I’m not just forcing you into some sort of Stockholm Syndrome with my presence?”

Well jesus, let it never be said Helena didn’t have a sense of humor, no matter how dark it may be. Leon shrugged and turned to the window just as lightning flashed again. His hand on the table spasmed, nails digging into the wood on reflex. He thought about Chris’s gun on his hip and told himself he was safe even if he was ridiculously high up and unable to feasibly escape.

“You don’t like storms, do you?”

Leon looked back to Helena and tried to play off his childish reaction with another shrug. “Just never had good experiences with it.”

Helena looked out the window with Leon, her gaze far away. “… Deborah was scared of storms too,” she told Leon softly, surprising him. “It was just her, me, and my mom growing up. My mom had to work nights most of the time so whenever there was a bad storm, I was in charge of my sister. We shared a room and she would crawl into my bed until she was thirteen and suddenly insisting she wasn’t a little kid anymore.” Helena shook her head, sorrow heavy in her brown eyes. “I would hear Deborah in the bed next to mine. I would hear her crying. Eventually, I just stopped listening to her. I crawled into her bed instead and… She never did tell me to leave.”

Leon watched Helena, wishing there was more he could do. Helena’s lips tugged upwards in a bittersweet smile. “We made shadow puppets with the lightning,” she continued. “Waited for the flash and tried to see who had made the best puppet of a specific animal on the ceiling. Deborah won every time.” 

Helena paused in her story telling, eyes on the window. Lightning crackled and Leon swallowed down his own fear. Then those brown eyes were on him, sharp and focused once more. “Did no one help you through the storms, Leon?”

That was a very loaded question. He had to look away. “… Once or twice. Sure. A lot of bad stuff happened in my life with lightning and thunder, so the fear is more association than fear itself.”

“But someone did help you,” Helena dug carefully.

“Yeah,” Leon sighed. “Two people, really. Both of them are gone now.”

Helena made a soft noise that Leon could barely hear over the engines. “Family?”

“A girl I knew who’s— away,” Leon said haltingly, reluctant to say he had a daughter just in case, remembering the two weeks he’d had with Sherry where he’d hold the little girl close and chased away her nightmares of her mutated father. Caring for Sherry had made it easy for Leon to ignore his own problems back them. “And… a partner.”

Helena raised a brow. “A partner, or… a _partner?_ ”

Leon had to carefully angle his face away so she wouldn’t see the light flush on his cheeks. “… Both,” he admitted, feeling good for telling someone the truth. “They’re dead.”

He could see Helena’s reflection in the window— he saw her jump, brown eyes going huge, something like shock in her expression. “It’s a dangerous world out there,” he murmured to Helena’s reflection, unable to face her physically. “You can’t save everyone.”

“… I’m sorry, Leon.”

“It’s alright,” he lied, voice catching. “I don’t believe in god, but I believed in him. He’s in a better place.” He didn't look at Helena so he didn’t see her reaction to the pronoun. It wasn’t like Leon was unaware of certain rumors that surrounded him and the women that looked his way and he was sure Helena had thought Ada was something much more than a friend to Leon, but it wasn’t her fault to make those assumptions either. Leon knew he didn’t exactly exude the air of a man who was sexually active in any way to begin with. Married to his work was an understatement— Leon knew he gave off the look of a man who was too broken to desire. 

“Losing my sister is gonna hurt forever, isn’t it?”

Leon didn’t know the answer to that, but— he missed Sherry every day and Sherry wasn’t even dead, so Leon nodded. “Yeah,” he said, feeling even worse for Helena. “It’s gonna be with you until the day you die. But you can’t give up because of it. No matter how much you hate it, the world is gonna keep on turning no matter who you lose. It never stops. So either you take the easy way out or you find something to hold onto and never let go no matter how exhausted you get.”

“Is that what you do?” Helena asked softly. “What are you holding onto?”

Leon faced her, his expression burdened with something even he couldn’t name. “I’m making the world a better place,” he said. “That was what my partner fought for. He fought to make the world safer— he fought to save it. And I never really fought for it before but when I found out he was gone? It was the only thing that kept me going.” He grimaced. “Adam swore he’d help me. Swore he’d be there with me until the end. So I guess losing Adam made it just that— losing Adam was the end. Now all I’ve got is the dreams of the dead.” He paused, then shook his head. “I’ll realize those dreams for them just so I can know that they’re resting in peace.”

Helena visibly shuddered. “That’s awful, Leon.”

He frowned. “What? How?”

“If someone really loves you, they wouldn’t want you in a war zone.”

Leon hated that she was right— he knew for a fact that Chris had hated to know Leon was enlisted and he would hate that Leon was still fighting to this day. “I know,” he murmured, having to look away again. “Sometimes love just isn’t enough.”

The plane suddenly rattled and swayed, the entire craft shaking and Helena crying out in surprise as Leon held fast to the table. The lights flickered and everything went pitch dark before the light returned, the overhead air masks dropping. “What the hell was that?” Helena asked him, her eyes huge again.

Leon couldn’t answer her, so he stood and immediately made for the cockpit. The plane was huge and they were in first class, meaning they were about as close as they could sit to the controls without being in the lap of the pilot. The sparse passengers scrambled about, Leon having to gently push a man aside and wincing at the sight of a woman on her knees, clutching her head that was bleeding sluggishly. “Help her,” he told the man he’d passed after grabbing him by the arm. The man blinked owlish at him before nodding and going down to aid the injured woman as Leon strode up the stairs that led to the cockpit, pushing a button to open the sliding doors.

The immediate stench of death was a punch to the face. There was a wet sound and a pop, like bones being wrenched from sockets. The copilot was dead on the floor to his right. Helena was at his side and then moving past him into the cockpit, but Leon stopped her with a call of her name. He was looking at the pilot’s seat— at the cocoon that had once been a man.

The cocoon burst and the plane shook, throwing Leon and Helena to the ground. He grunted and held himself up, watching a create take shape, stumbling onto the floor with a smack, the same bulbous, horrifying thing from the cathedral. The holes littering the swollen mass had the same blue gas wafting from inside. Leon had read plenty of books on planes back when he’d been a kid avoiding going home— he knew all of the air inside a plane was recycled. If they didn’t act fast, they were going to be breathing in the C-virus, one way or the other.

And even worse—

“You don’t suppose that thing can fly a plane, do you?” he asks Helena wryly, eyeing the front controls, knowing they only had autopilot to rely on for so much longer. As Helena looked to him with a sort of panic, he pulled out Rot and watched the shambling mass before aiming his sights and carefully laying in measured shots. So long as he hit the infected and _only_ the infected, the plane wouldn’t be damaged. He pressed into comms with one hand, taking a few careful steps back as Helena caught on and opened fire too.

“We can’t let that thing reach the passengers,” Leon told Helena as he fired slow and steady into the infected, keeping a wide berth. “And if it stays here too long, the air is just gonna become saturated with the gas. We need to handle this quickly and get this thing off the plane.”

“But what if—”

Helena’s question was interrupted as the thing suddenly leaped into the air, crashing through the overhead lights and getting into the upper crawlspace, disappearing from sight. Leon stared up at the shattered hole in the ceiling and struggled to understand just what the fuck had happened. “It’s in the plane,” he whispered to himself. Then, louder, more urgently, “Helena, it’s in the plane!”

“I know, I know!” she replied in a rush, darting for a screen on the wall that displayed the plane and the statuses of specific areas within. The pressure bulkhead in the back of the plane was the only section in red, an alarm blaring in Leon’s ear. “There,” Helena said. “There’s something wrong with the bulkhead. That’s gotta be it!”

“Let’s move,” Leon ordered, pulling at her shoulder to fall away and sprint. The people onboard were beginning to panic, congregating and getting in Leon’s way as he weaved between rows of seats and pushed past aesthetic damages, paneling falling off the walls every time the plane rattled dangerously. He had a timer counting down in his head, the monster with them a ticking time bomb of infection. If they didn’t get it out of here soon, everyone on the plane would die— including Leon and Helena. And call him picky, but thirty-thousand feet high and helpless wasn’t how Leon wanted to go out.

They reached the bulkhead entrance, Leon and Helena struggling to turn the huge metal wheel that garnered them access to the bulkhead beyond. Leon wondered at the practically of this whole mess if it took two people just to open a door to begin to fix a problem. The door swung open and Leon saw a red light flashing above a pressure gage, another wheel attached to that as well. “That’s gotta be it,” Leon said, noticing the gas hissing from the pipes that came from the gage, the pressure either too high or being blocked from where it needed to go. “C’mon.” He went to the wheel and turned it again with Helena’s aid, the red light flickering off and the alarm dying, quiet filling the room. 

“That was it,” Helena said, her words filled with relief. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

Leon snorted, knowing they still had to worry about the infected. “Don’t jinx us.”

A heavy thump sounded overhead, and then the grating of the ceiling dropped, the infected popping its head down to scream at them before it dropped into the bulkhead with them. Helena had fucking jinxed them. The creature shrieked again and then the room was filled with gas, Leon immediately holding his breath and covering his mouth and nose with his elbow. The gas had a short life, fading quickly, but Leon still didn’t want to risk it. 

“We gotta get this thing outta here!” Helena cried out urgently. “Leon, we need—”

Leon spotted a closed control panel. “There!” he shouted. “Helena, keep it away from the control panel and get ready to hold onto something!”

“Roger!”

Helena, an admirable woman when Leon thought about it, darted forward, measuring her shots and getting terrifyingly close to the beast just to keep it away from Leon. He didn’t take his time for granted, bending low and darting for the control panel, slamming the butt of Rot on the simple lock on the side and throwing it open. He’d read plenty of books on planes, _countless_ books on planes, he knew what he was looking for, but at the same time—

“We’ll get thrown out with it,” he told himself, fighting to keep the gunshots behind him from breaking his focus. “Shit— _we’ll get thrown out too_.” He turned away from the panel and locked eyes with Helena, who looked frantic even though her stance was solid, the creature shrieking at her like a banshee even as carefully landed shots kept it back. There was another scream, a specific scream, and Leon and Helena both covered their mouths and noses, screwing their eyes shut as the cramped space was filled with the putrid gas. The moment of darkness somehow helped Leon think, and when he opened his eyes again and saw the large box of some sort of cargo off to the side, he knew how they would survive this. 

“Just a second!” he begged, scrambling to the box and unhooking the shackles that held the straps. He glanced up for only a split second to make sure the heavy, nylon straps were attached securely to the metal frame of the aircraft itself. These shackles would be the only thing to keep them alive. “Helena! Keep your back to me and don’t get more than three feet away from me!”

He turned quickly, lifting the heavy pieces of metal, grabbing the two belts around Helena’s waist and hooking the first shackle to her. Then he reached behind himself, hooking the second shackle to the straps of his shoulder sidearm holsters across his back. He ran back for the control panel, mind a flurry of panic as he made frantic calculations in his head of math he hadn’t practiced in years, force and weight and vacuum physics, how much pressure they’d be losing, how much air they’d have torn from their lungs, how long they would have before they wouldn’t be able to move. He prayed the plane had lost enough altitude to be survivable, because if they were still up thirty-thousand feet, they weren’t going to make it out. 

Leon reached the control panel again, found the right lever, ignored the warning signs, and reached back to grab Helena around the waist before yanking the lever down and holding his breath.

The cargo hold became utter chaos, the lift door lowering and the monster being sucked out into the open air— along with everything in the cargo hold that wasn’t tied down. That huge box Leon had untethered slid out and away, the blackness of the night outside swallowing it whole. Helena, held tight to Leon’s waist, cried out in his ear, and yet he barely heard it. He had his back to the side of the control panel, relying on it to keep them from falling and suffering broken bones from a sudden yank on the straps tethering them. His and Helena’s hair whipped harshly about their faces, feeling almost like knives. He was holding his breath and it— 

It was so _fucking cold._

Leon blindly slapped his hand around behind him as his lungs began to burn. He found the lever out of pure luck and yanked it back up, the lift door slowly sealing and the room filling with air again. As the vacuum was cut off, Helena and Leon both dropped to the ground, their knees momentarily weak, Leon holding himself up above Helena on his knees as she struggled to unknot her hair and gasp oxygen back into her blood. Leon unhooked her shackle and Helena reached around to unhook his.

“Good thinking,” she wheezed, giving him the tiniest smile before pushing him back gently so she could stand. “You think we got it out fast enough?”

Leon had no idea. “We have to get to the cockpit,” he told Helena urgently, getting his feet back under his self and heading for the exit, grabbing her hand. “I just hope we made it—” He pushed open the door and immediately faltered. “— in time.”

A corpse on its feet turned towards them, yowling and reaching out with decaying fingers. Leon pushed Helena back and leaned away, swinging his leg up high and kicking the thing in its heavy skull, sending it slamming into the wall, the head cracking open on the sharp edge of a table. 

“We’re too late!” Helena cried out in anguish. “Oh god, all the passengers—”

“We need to run,” Leon interrupted, grabbing her hand again and letting tunnel vision take over. It hurt, it fucking hurt, knowing that everyone on the plane was gone and he’d failed again, but he knew that if they didn’t get the plane under control, they’d fly until they were out of fuel and crash into a million pieces. They ran through the plane, slipping between seats to dodge the reach of the newly infected, Leon trying to fight back to unending guilt. 

“Leon, we have to—”

Helena was interrupted by the plane suddenly rocking _dangerously_ , a huge sway that had Leon nearly falling to the ground again if he didn’t release Helena to grab onto a seat. The overhead luggage bins popped open, bags and suitcases falling down atop them. Leon grunted and put an arm up to shield his head, the wheel of a case hitting his shoulder hard, Helena suffering the brunt of a heavy duffel bag. “This is why I can never sleep on planes!” He bit out as he pulled himself back up and looked to make sure Helena could do the same. Helena struggled to get the weight off her shoulders and Leon saw—

Rot was up and firing before Leon could even remind himself how stupidly dangerous it was, a bullet slamming into the eye socket of a zombie that was only a foot away from Helena. It made a ruined noise and dropped lifelessly— for good— to the floor. “Shit,” Helena hissed as she righted herself and gave Leon a nod. “I owe you one."

“Let’s just keep moving,” Leon said, his voice harrowed. They reached the cockpit, climbing the stairs three at a time, Leon loath to realize the doors weren’t going to close when he glanced at the side display and saw the lock button wasn’t lit up. That brought his eyes to the display of the wellbeing of the plane— half of it was red. “Jesus Christ, how much worse can this get?”

_“Leon!”_

Hannigan’s voice crackled over the radio, so sudden that even Leon jumped a little. He pressed into the comms that was still in his ear, baffled, yet relieved to hear from her at all. “Hannigan— how are you contacting us?”

 _“I was able to get FCC authorization to get onto your mobile frequency when I thought something was happening,”_ she explained quickly, her words almost panicked like she knew what was going on. _“Leon, your flight hasn’t responded to ground control— what’s going on?!”_

“It’s not looking good, Hannigan,” Leon admitted as he looked over all the bells and whistles, trying to understand what he was seeing. The books he’d read had all been circa the eighties or nineties, he hadn’t read anything on modern airline controls in a while, but— 

Leon slipped into the front seat, taking a deep breath, seeing the lights of the city below and knowing they were going to hit the ground one way or the other. “Hannigan, the pilot is dead. Autopilot is still going, but I’ve got little to no experience. I need you to help me out.” He looked over the controls again, his heart sinking as he took in all the complicates that he simply didn’t recognize. “How many levers does it take to fly this thing?!”

_“Oh god— give me a second!”_

Leon wasn’t sure they even had that. “Helena!” he called out, looking to his partner over his shoulder, hearing shuffling footsteps behind them even now. She looked to him, her eyes on the city below them, her complexion pale. “Helena, I need you to cover me.”

Helena nodded, her jaw tense. “I’ve got you,” she said firmly, turning away and heading for the door. At least that was one thing Leon didn’t have to worry about. The plane was shaking with heavy turbulence, but that was all that was going wrong, autopilot handling the worst of it as it was supposed to. 

_“Alright, Leon— I need you to take control of this thing.”_

“I figured,” he breathed, haltingly taking the control column in his clammy hands. 

_“Okay,”_ Hannigan said, sounding almost as scared as he felt. _“First, switch off autopilot to restore manual control.”_ Easy enough— the MFD was right in front of Leon, displaying the autopilot option, which he quickly shut off. Immediately, the control column in his hands began to tremble, control of the entire plane suddenly his responsibility. He fought desperately to keep it still as Helena’s gunfire behind him warned him of how insanely fucked up this entire situation was in. He wished Chris were here— the other man would be able to fly this thing a lot easier than Leon ever could. _“Then press the third button in the fourth row of the upper panel.”_ Also easy as hell. Leon reached up, pushed the button, and cursed how the shaking of the plane wasn’t improving, beginning to steadily lose altitude.

“Do I need to bring down some sort of landing gear?” he asked frantically, seeing the lights of the city come closer and closer. He was trying to hold the plane in the air— why were they suddenly dropping? “China’s getting a little close!”

_“Leon, you’re past the landing strip.”_

Oh. 

Oh _fuck._

_“Okay. Now pull the lever on the left hand side.”_

Leon pulled the lever, recognizing it as the engine thrust for all four engines on the plane— two of which he was pretty sure were broken. “This is harder than it looks,” he told Hannigan, voice breaking as terror began to settle in. “C’mon, c’mon— pull up!” He was begging the plane to work with him, begging not to die like this. The bright lights below was so close that he couldn’t even see the stars anymore. His heart was in his throat. The nose was lifting and yet— and yet they were still losing altitude steadily by the second. 

_“Leon, pull the throttle! Pull up!”_

Leon squeezed his eyes shut and pulled back on the control column, knowing what Hannigan was trying to orchestrate and praying it worked. _“Leon, you have to find somewhere—”_

Leon saw a strip of the ground that was flat and lit up— a highway, straight as an arrow for a long while— long enough to be their only chance. He let out a deep breath, told himself Chris would be proud that he made it this far at all, and brought the nose up as high as he could while desperately trying to steer for that long patch of asphalt. Then the horrible scream of metal being torn apart and the sent of kerosene burning filled his senses and his body was thrown and that was it.

For a few very long moments, Leon’s world was endlessly dark and blissfully quiet.

Then hands shook him and he groaned softly, pulling himself up and off the ground to see Helena pushing at him, blood running down her brow, a bruise on her arm, alive. Holy fucking shit, she was alive. Her lips were moving— she was obviously talking to him— but the ringing in his ears muffled her words and Leon just wanted to sleep. His head and entire left side hurt, and there was a fire burning somewhere. Leon felt like he was better off just shutting his eyes and allowing that nothingness from before consume him completely. It had been a gentle kind of darkness— it had reminded him of falling asleep in Chris’s arms.

“Leon! Leon, we have to go!”

Words finally made it through, and Leon knew she was right. He groaned again and barely managed to lift himself up, holding onto the pilots seat as leverage. “Getting too old for this,” he rasped as he wobbled to his feet, his head pounding. Helena’s hands were on his back to help steady him and Leon really was happy to have her around. His own hand went immediately to his hip— as his fingertips grazed Rot, he let himself relax. He took a deep breath and nodded, steadying himself. “I’m okay,” he murmured, head clearing by the second. He took in the sight of the cockpit and the roaring fire surrounding them and knew Helena had been right to be so frantic. “Let’s go.”

They went for one of the emergency exits, both of them struggling to pull the heavy handle with the way Leon’s side was protesting and how Helena had a very bad limp. It eventually opened for them, the inflatable slide opening up and giving them a way to the ground. Leon helped Helena down first, then followed, wincing as his feet hit the concrete. He glanced around and saw shipment containers— they had to be on some sort of wharf. Jesus, he’d just barely kept them from sinking into the ocean, hadn’t he?

“That could’ve gone worse.”

Leon looked to Helena, wishing he could match the shaky grin on her face. He then looked ahead, unsure of wear to go from here, and stretched his arm out, heading away from the fire just in case. They’d get their bearings once Hannigan got back to them— Hannigan, please get back to them— and figure it out from there. He looked around again for some sort of place to hide or maybe even somewhere—

“Dad?”

Leon whipped around, his body screaming a protest that he ignored, because Leon knew that voice and that voice _should not be here._

Sherry stepped out from between flames nearly as tall as her— and she had _grown._ She had grown so much, the young girl he’d danced with before her prom night was a woman now with a gun on her hip and a strange man at her side. Her features were sharper, barely any baby fat lingering on her cheeks, and her bright eyes reflected the fire with a strength of her own.

Sherry was in China. 

_Sherry was in China._

And Leon was stumbling for Sherry— who was running towards him— meeting her and grabbing her, clinging to Sherry, dragging her into his chest and holding her tight enough that it hurt them both. He buried his face in her neck and felt her pulse against his skin, Sherry wrapping her arms around his waist, fingers digging into shoulders. Sherry let out a noise that was almost a sob and Leon matched it with a sob of his own, holding his daughter as tightly as he dared and wishing, wishing more than anything, that she weren’t here right now, in this burning hell. 

“Sherry,” he whispered, his voice just absolutely ruined, a hand going up to tangle in her hair that was twisted and dirty between his fingers. “What are you doing here?”

The man that had been behind Sherry was watching him with a threat in his eyes, but Leon was going to smack that fucker into the ground if he tried to get between Leon and Sherry right now. That went for anyone in this entire country— if _anyone_ tried to pull Sherry from him, they were going to get a bullet in the teeth.

“I’m on protective detail.” Sherry pulled away, but not that much, just enough to look up at him, and god, _fuck_ , her eyes were the same, those intelligent, empathetic, _warm_ eyes hadn’t changed since the day Leon had left her. “I’m making sure the cure is developed!”

Leon stared into her, not even wanting to believe what he was hearing. “Protective—” He cut himself off, feeling unsteady, his mind connecting the dots and hating the picture that was forming. “You— what?”

“I’m an agent,” Sherry told him, effectively driving a stake through his heart and a knife into his throat. “Dad, I just— I needed to find you.”

Needed to find—

Oh god, _was this his fault?_

“It doesn’t matter right now,” Sherry told him— which was a fucking lie, it mattered so much— before pulling even further away, stepping out of reach, back towards the man that was watching Leon like a hawk. Leon’s hands were outstretched in front of himself, useless but still reaching for his daughter. He’d felt her absence for the past nine years like a bullet wound in his chest and now she was only a few feet away, yet— she felt so much further than that. An agent with a strange man in a dying country, and—

Oh god, Simmons. 

Simmons was Sherry’s legal father. 

If the floor could fall out from Leon again tonight, it would be now. 

“Dad,” Sherry said, calling out to him, almost like she knew that Leon suddenly was not okay at all and that he could barely even stand on his own, let alone think straight. “Why are you here?”

He was here to kill Sherry’s father. Leon swallowed hard and wished he could say a part of himself wasn’t relishing the opportunity for all Simmons had done to him, far beyond just the C-virus. Still, he met Sherry’s gaze— ached to see how much and yet how little had changed in her— and said, “I’m tracking the man behind all this.” He swallowed hard. “Chief Security Advisor Simmons.”

Sherry reared back. “What!? There— there must be some sort of mistake!”

God above, Leon wished it were a mistake. Then Sherry made things worse by telling him, “I report to Simmons!”

That— “He’s your supervisor?” Leon asked, finding yet another reason to want Simmons dead, but also getting a sinking feeling. Leon’s eyes went to the man that had been silent this whole time, really looked at him for the first time. Tall, buzzed, strong, and distantly familiar. If this was who Sherry was protecting under Simmons’ orders…

“We’re on our way to meet with him right now,” Sherry told Leon, her brow twisting.

Leon turned to Sherry again and made a decision. “Where is he?” he asked, voice low and dangerous. Sherry, though, for some insane reason, didn’t answer him. She shook her head, lips moving, forming soundless words but giving him nothing, and that—

Holy shit— that _hurt._ After everything Leon had been through, after proving his dedication to his daughter over and over and fucking over, after everything he’d suffered, Sherry didn’t even trust him over Simmons? Forget how Sherry had pulled away before— Sherry’s silence hurt more than anything she could have ever said or done to him in his entire life. 

And god dammit— people were _dying._

Leon cut his chin— “I need to know,”— took a step towards Sherry, and—

A hand hit him in the chest, shoving him back, a sharp voice shouting, “Hey!” before Sherry was saying someone’s name, shouting “Jake!”, holding back the man who had been still as stone until now, until he’d needed to put a hand on Leon and protect Sherry from Leon like Leon was Leon Kennedy and not Leon S. Kennedy. The shove didn’t stun him as much as the realization did, even though he suddenly had the feeling he had a couple bruised ribs. But there was something else—

That man— Jake— was _very familiar._ As in, inhuman eyes, cruel smile, tall and freakishly strong kind of familiar. Leon didn’t want to consider the possibility since he really didn’t think anyone could actually have fallen for that _bastard_ , but his hand strayed to Rot with only half his permission regardless, and everyone noticed. Leon had a gut instinct telling him he knew who this man was— he always listened to his gut.

Sherry noticed too. “Let me handle this.”

Jake scowled at Leon and suddenly yanked Sherry back, a good few feet, lowering his voice, but still audible. “I thought your orders were to avoid contact— with _anyone._ ”

Sherry let out a frustrated huff. “Leon’s not just anyone,” she argued as she pulled her arm from the man’s grip. “He’s my father! He saved my life back in Raccoon City. If there’s anyone out here that we can trust, it’s him.”

Jake looked to Leon and Leon looked back— back into the spitting image of Albert Wesker. Leon had never been unlucky enough to be held under the stare of Wesker, but it seemed like that foreboding look in manic eyes was something passed down through the gene pool, recognizable even within photographs and endlessly terrifying through something as simple as a lens. Still, Leon was always pretty accustom to not backing down from the challenging eyes of people trying to scare him. 

Jake was watching Leon like he could read Leon’s thoughts. Leon was staring back, daring him to try. Jake then gave Leon a nod. “Fair enough.”

Leon had the sudden intrusive thought to demand what this guy’s problem was, gene pool aside. He had too many fucking questions and too many fears, too many bombshells being thrown at him at once. He couldn’t keep his defenses up, his heart aching in his chest for too many reasons. His heartbeat itself was a rapid flutter, a worrying rabbit-heart. He couldn’t keep taking this shit all at once— he couldn’t keep suffering these attacks on his very psyche.

“Look out!”

There was a shadow behind his daughter— a turbine from the engines of the plane Leon had crashed, the plane that had been filled with victims of a virus created by a man who had taken all of it away from Leon. The turbine was a shadow heading straight for Sherry and Leon didn’t even think, moving forward, reaching out—

Sherry was suddenly yanked away from him, Jake wrapping his arms around her and Sherry holding to Jake as the man took them both to the floor, the turbine passing over them. Leon barely had time to drop to his knees, the hollow sensation of failure so fucking familiar that he knew it better than his own reflection, but even as the flames grew at that turbine exploded in more heat and more sound, even as Leon distantly recognized that he was about to fight something much bigger than he was, he realized—

He realized Sherry was _safe._ Maybe it wasn’t with him, maybe because she was better off _away_ from Leon, but she was safe, and that mattered so much more than anything else. Everything Leon had felt about Jake was washed away in the blink of an eye as he realized that Jake, somehow, someway, was protecting Leon’s daughter so instinctively and so intimately that it was second nature, and that meant Sherry was _safe._

That— that was actually really, really good to know.

“Leon,” Helena called out, off to the side and staring at something behind him. “On the plane!”

Leon turned to face the next giant to fell, staring up at the monstrous figure that was probably around twelve feet tall and a whole lot of ugly. Predominantly human with a strange attachment on the arm, its body looked like it was held together by smaller mechanical parts, and patches of the skin itself were stitched together like the fleshy covering came from different sources. This thing reminded Leon so much of El Gigante that it wasn’t even funny. 

“Him again?!”

Leon glanced to his left where Jake was standing, holding a gun in his hands, looking tired and so very young. He felt the slightest bit of mirth, knowing the exasperation Jake was feeling very well. “Friend of yours?”

“More like an ex-girlfriend.” Jake looked _stressed_. Was he knew to BOWs or just combat in general? He sure wasn’t holding that gun like he was cherry. “Guy doesn’t know when to quit!”

The behemoth leaped from the plane’s spine and landed hard on the ground, the machinery holding it together grinding. Jake cursed and yanked up his gun— a gorgeous Smith & Wesson Model 500— and aimed his sights down on the hulking beast in unison with Leon lifting Rot. Leon knew Sherry was in good hands with this man, Wesker’s relation or not. After all, Leon liked to think he was living proof evil wasn’t passed down by blood. A grin suddenly tugged at Leon’s lips, unbidden, as he cocked his chin to the side and drawled, “Welcome to the club.” He glanced to Jake, let the young man see the smile on Leon’s face, and didn’t miss the bewilderment in those sharp eyes. 

Yeah— Jake was definitely new to this brand of hell. “You get used to it,” Leon promised, feeling confusedly responsible for the guy now that he had no ill will towards him. The sensation of Jake beside him matched the concern Leon had felt for the soldier back in Harvardville Airport— for Piers Nivans before Leon had even known his name. Jesus— sometimes all it took was a split second, an exchange of glances, and Leon would be suddenly reaching for a person, pulling them close, promising them safety and willing to let himself die to make that promise realized. Essentially, Jake was officially in Leon’s tiny circle of people he was going to ensure made it to the end of this night. Like Sherry, like Ashley, like Piers, and now Jake. Leon was going to make sure Jake lived and had a better future than Leon did now.

“Stay close with me,” Leon told Jake, figuring that Jake had fought this thing numerous times, but probably wasn’t used to this kind of open area. Tight corners, places to run, ways to hide— now they were out in the open and caged in by fire, sitting ducks for this thing to pick them off one by one if they weren’t smart. “Don’t let Sherry get too far away, I’m keeping Helena close. We stick together and fill it with lead until it can’t even drag itself across the ground. And whatever you do— don’t stop moving.”

Jake gave Leon a tiny grin of his own. “You’re the boss, Mr. Birkin.”

Oh— oh what the _fuck._

The monster charged before Leon could become irate, his own words echoing in his head, mentally sizing this thing up compared to everything he’d fought before. South America with Krauser was still the largest— even El Gigante was bigger than this thing. That meant this particular breed of awful was going to be a lot faster and a lot more agile, and with an arm like that, it probably had some measure of intelligence. So more like a Tyrant than Plaga, right? Leon could deal with a smart giant every now and again— he was pretty sure he’d had worse. 

Leon dropped to the side, darting out of the charge and watching the other three do something close to the same, Sherry even pulling Jake back by the sleeve of his shirt. So it was a mutual protective nature— good. Partners needed to be willing to give it all for the person at their side. It was the only way to trust someone enough to survive the night.

He fired Rot at the giant as it turned to charge for them again, but even he could tell the four volleys of bullets weren’t doing much good. The shots that didn’t ricochet off metal barely sunk into the flesh, like this thing was made of layers and layers of rotten skin that absorbed rather than suffered. They were wasting bullets at this—

The giant lunged forward, breaking its charge with sudden grace and snatching Jake up by the skull, lifting him into the air. Sherry cried out the young man’s name and Leon acted thoughtlessly, sprinting forward to the behemoth and pulling a grenade from his limited arsenal, running up a piece of shrapnel from the plane and flying through the air for the giant, landing on its back. He pulled the pin, shoved the grenade into a slot of metal meeting skin where the prosthetic arm was attached to the shoulder, and swung over the creature’s back, wrapping his arms around Jake’s waist and letting momentum wrench them from the monster’s grip as it loosened its hold on Jake to scramble at the foreign object in its body. Leon hit the ground first, letting his body take the brunt of the impact with Jake landing atop him. Then Leon smoothly rolled them over, laying his frame across Jake’s as the grenade went off and the shockwave rattled their bones.

The creature roared, a pitiful, braying noise, before footsteps suddenly thundered away and the crunch of metal faded. Jake pushed Leon off of himself, the young man meeting Leon’s eyes for only a moment, something uneasy in his expression before he tore their gazes apart. Leon took the opportunity to sweep his eyes across the barge, looking for the creature and realizing it was gone. 

“Take it from us,” Jake said, his voice catching just barely. How old was this kid, other than way too young? “This guy’s indestructible. Let’s get the hell outta here.”

Leon couldn’t agree more— he was really tired of fire. He scanned the area again, seeing the best option. “The low fence,” he said, glancing to Helena, relieved to see his partner still doing as okay as she could be. “You holding up alright?”

“Really damn tired of trying to shoot things that are immune to bullets,” Helena griped. Jake, behind her, barked out something like a laugh and Leon shook his head, knowing that feeling as well. 

He reached out as Sherry ran for him, pushing her along gently, wanting Sherry at the fence first just in case that freak show came back. “Jake, get—”

“I know what I’m doing!” Jake interrupted with a huff, getting down on one knee at the fence, waiting for Sherry to launch her up. Leon scowled, running for the fence, wall running up and grabbing the ledge just as Sherry leaped up to grab the top as well. Like hell he was going to let her end up on the other side alone. And as he leaned his center of weight forward, ready to drop into the next unknown area with Sherry right beside him, he was glad he’d followed his gut and come up here when he heard that now-familiar roar and looked back to see that fucking bastard of a giant just behind them, its strange arm lifted, the red nose of a projectile aimed down at them. 

Again, Leon acted without a thought, grabbing Sherry and throwing her to the ground with him, twisting so his body hit the concrete, cushioning her fall. Just like with Jake, just as he’d do for anyone he cared for, over and over and over until his body was smashed into nothing, so long as the other person was safe. Sherry immediately rolled off him, her bright eyes full of concern as he tugged at his shirt to pull him up. “Are you okay?!”

Leon grunted as his limbs groaned in protest. He could hear gunshots on the other side of the fence, their respective partners fighting valiantly for their lives. Leon knew Helena would be fine— she could hold her own without him if need be, Leon had no doubt. But what about Jake? Leon stood, ignoring the pain, and gave Sherry a smile that he hoped would put her at ease. “Compared to Raccoon City, this is a walk in the park, right?” He glanced around and saw some sort of double decker tour bus, knowing his only option when he saw it. Leon pulled himself into the driver’s seat that was ridiculously on the left side and gusted a breath of relief when he found the keys still in the ignition. 

“I was too young to understand what was happening back then,” Sherry said breathlessly as she climbed into the passenger seat, watching Leon turn the ignition, the engine hacking but eventually rumbling to life. “Leon, are you sure this is a good idea?”

Leon sat up and released the parking break. “Nope.” He threw the bus into drive and loosened his shoulders, bracing for more impact trauma. “Buckle up.” Leon slammed his foot on the gas and braced himself against the seat back as the bus slammed into the wall, breaking through the sheet metal like it was paper, and then right back into the fire, Leon throwing an arm to his left to keep Sherry in her seat moments before he rammed into the giant with all the force this bus could muster. The front window shattered and Leon got the steering wheel in his ribcage, but the giant staggered and went down, fumbling and shaking its head like an injured animal trying to regain its bearings. The bus had brought it down for a few seconds, and yet—

Leon was pretty sure that hitting the Tyrant with the SWAT van back in Raccoon City had took it out of commission for a little longer than a few seconds. “Shit,” he choked out, pushing Sherry out of the passenger seat and bugging out, dropping out of the bus to head to Helena. “That thing’s a tank!”

“How is it still standing?!” Helena asked in genuine bewilderment. 

“Don’t get me started!” Sherry cried out in exasperation. “But maybe the four of us can stop him once and for all!”

As the monster leaped atop a row of shipment crates and suddenly traded its rocket-arm for some terrifying claw out of a twisted carnival game, Leon had his doubts about their ability to bring this thing down. “He carries around a spare?” Leon had his doubts— 

Until Jake passed him to a shove a gun into Leon’s chest, barely meeting his eyes as he said, “Sherry tells me you’re a good shot— wanna prove her right?”

Leon looked down at the new weapon in his hands— an MK 14 Mod 0. Leon pulled back the latch, grinned sharply at the sight of five rounds already awaiting him, and suddenly felt a lot more optimistic about their odds. “Indestructible, you said?” He lined up his shot, holding his breath, keeping the sights steady and then pulling the trigger, relishing the kickback as the semi-automatic rounds slammed into the giant’s shoulder, and yet—

There really wasn’t a lot of blood. Not nearly as much as Leon would have liked. “Shit,” he groused. “I was hoping you were exaggerating!”

“‘Fraid not,” Jake replied grimly as he took a step away, watching the monster ready itself for another charge with its new and improved arm. “That doesn’t mean we gotta make things easy for him, right?”

Right— but instead of wasting ammo, Leon had a better idea. He turned his sights past the giant, zeroing in on the power lines behind it— power lines that led to the huge electricity pylon that was already suffering structural damage thanks to Leon’s sorry attempt to land an airliner. And an electricity pylon that was dangerously close to a refueling truck that miraculously hadn’t been blown sky high just yet. Leon was about to change that. 

“Everyone!” he called out, reloading the rifle with five more rounds. “I’m bringing that thing down! Get ready to move!”

“Are you fucking crazy?”

“Leon, that’s not gonna—”

One of these days, Leon would get to work with someone that actually recognized his full ability and use in the field. For now, Leon blocked them out, dropping down onto his stomach to brace himself and hold his breath once more. He distantly saw the giant turn and make a lumbering charge for him in his peripherals, but ignored the footsteps shaking the ground, ignored Chris’s voice in his head screaming for him to run, get away of the way, get to safety. He ignored everything, let his breath out slowly, and squeezed the trigger. Five shots burst from the rifle. In the span of the split second it took to reach the fueling tank, Leon heard the giant roar and looked to see the thing was far too close. Then the explosion rattled the ground and the structure of the electricity pylon tore itself apart, the entire thing twisting and collapsing and falling—

Falling right on top of them.

A set of hands grabbed the back of Leon’s vest, dragging him to his feet and throwing him to the side, Helena barely getting him out of the way as the tower crashed into the ground. He hit the ground hard, tasting blood as he bit his tongue, but rolling back to his feet immediately as he realized Sherry was on the other side. The tower was on fire, and the giant gone from sight. He sprinted for the burning mess, disregarding safety, and screamed. _“Sherry!”_

For a horrible, sickening moment, there was nothing. Then, “Dad!”

Leon staggered to the side, finding a break in the flames and seeing Sherry standing with Jake just behind her. “We’re gonna head to the Kwun Lung Building over in Koocheng!” She shouted, cupping her hands around her mouth to be heard. “That’s where I’m meeting Simmons!”

Oh god— _she was still going to meet him?_ “Sherry, listen!” he shouted back, trying to get closer, wishing he could reach out and touch her one last time so desperately that it ached. “Until we get there, I need you to—”

Something broke— something blew itself apart in a burst of heat and shredded metal, Leon barely covering his head in time, feeling like the delicate hair on his body had been scorched from his skin. As he uncovered his head and looked up, he saw the flames were too high and too loud. Sherry— Sherry was gone. 

“Are they gonna be alright?” Helena asked beside him, and honestly? Leon was relieved he had her, at least. 

“Jake will take care of her,” Leon said, knowing that for a fact from sheer observation alone. “And Sherry is a good girl— she’s been through worse. She’ll watch his back too.”

“They’re kids, Leon—”

“Sherry’s older than you.” That had Helena stuttering into silence, her brow furrowing like she couldn’t believe it. Leon did his best to smile again, telling himself Sherry would be fine and that Jake would look out for her because that was all he could let himself think. 

_“Leon, do you read me?”_

Fuck— that voice was like music right now. “Hannigan?” he called out, pressing into comms. 

_“Oh thank god— you went dark after the plane went down. I linked in a minute ago but you weren’t picking me up.”_

Leon turned away from the carnage he’d helped create, heading for a break in the shipment crates, hoping he’d eventually find a way off this barge entirely and into the city, where Simmons would be. It meant a lot to him that Sherry had eventually entrusted Leon with the whereabouts of her adoptive father, even as the pain still stung in knowing she’d tried to protect the man. Leon knew that Sherry was likely attached to Simmons in some way, but— 

Well, there wasn’t a but to be had, not really. Sherry didn’t know how Leon had ended up in STRAT and then DSO. She didn’t know what Leon had been through and how it all was for her. As far as Sherry knew, Simmons had taken her in out of the kindness of his heart and given Sherry every little thing her heart could desire. 

As far as Leon knew, Sherry thought Leon had stopped seeing her of his own free will.

The hits just never stopped coming, did they?

“Just happy to hear your voice,” Leon said meaningfully. “Did you catch any of what was said between me and— and Agent Birkin?” That title didn’t sit well on his tongue. Leon was sure Hannigan barely knew the dramatic details behind Raccoon City— as far as anyone knew at all, Leon shouldn’t even care about Sherry Birkin as much as he really did. 

_“Just the tail end,”_ Hannigan replied, the sound of keys clacking in the background. _“The building Agent Birkin mentioned isn’t that far. Just stick to your current route, okay?”_

Leon didn’t have a route, but sure. “Got it,” he said, looking around, balking at the city that he was slowly approaching with Helena beside him. They were still in a mess of thrown crates, but he could see tall buildings that looked like they’d been thrown together like lego blocks beyond, a glow on the horizon that was from burning rubble, and not a vibrant city. A chill went down his spine as he suddenly considered just how many people must have died since the outbreak began in Lanshiang. “Thanks, Hannigan.”

_“Leon?”_

Leon paused, glancing to Hannigan at his side, both of them frowning at the surprising vulnerability in how Hannigan had said his name. They matched their gaits, moving slowly towards their barely-recognized destination, and Leon pressed into comms again, waiting. “Yeah, Hannigan?

_“Be careful— both of you.”_

Leon let out a breath and cut his chin to the side. “You know me, Hannigan. I’m always careful.”

_“You once jumped down a pitch black garbage chute with the president’s daughter without any knowledge of what was beneath you and how far down it could be— a chute you had, reportedly, just dropped infected down with the intentions of killing them.”_

Helena choked on a laugh that she bit off into her hand while Leon barely had the energy to look offended. “That wasn’t all me.” Chris had been the one playing with the crane controls like a kid trying to get a teddy bear for his date at the carnival. “Ashley wasn’t supposed to tell you that.” Now Helena was watching him with disbelief— had she thought Hannigan had been joking? “My track record speaks for itself,” Leon defended valiantly. “How many years in this shit? And I’m still not dead. Don’t worry about us, Hannigan, we’ll be alright.”

 _“I know,”_ Hannigan admitted reluctantly. _“I just— needed to say it.”_ The woman cleared her throat and Leon felt momentarily sorry for her. He couldn’t imagine the torture in sitting back and having to wait to know if her people made it out alive or not. _“Agent Birkin said Simmons is in the Kwun Lung building. The first thing you’re gonna need to do is head through the outdoor market up ahead. I’ll check back in with you two soon. Good luck.”_

“Thanks, Hannigan,” Helena said, managing a small smile in Leon’s direction as they finally broke away from the endless stacked crates and into a street-like area, artificial lighting making Leon squint. “I’ll make sure he comes home— he’d be lost without me.”

 _“Don’t I know it,”_ Hannigan griped, sounding momentarily years older. _“Take care of yourself, Harper. I’ll be waiting to hear from you both.”_

Communication ended with a short flare of static, and then Helena sighed, rolling her shoulders, before starting to move again. “Alright— let’s do this.”

Leon nodded, facing the market as well. Countless infected were within this city, BSAA leading a front or not. Containment didn’t happen overnight. They were both in for a hell of an op. And now that Leon knew Sherry was in the middle of this too— “Let’s get this over with,” he said. “If we beat Sherry there, maybe we can stop her and just send them both home.” He wanted Jake out of this hellscape of a city almost as much as he wanted Sherry out of it too.

Helena nodded, falling into a jog that Leon quickly met, the two of them moving quickly, side by side. “She called you dad,” Helena said, eyes ahead. “I thought you were into men.”

This really didn’t feel like the time. “I’m not into anything or anyone,” Leon replied stiffly. “I got Sherry out of a bad situation when she was young. I treated her as my daughter.” Sherry _was his daughter_ and no one would take that from him, but he still didn’t trust the world and he was going to protect her through omission if he had to. “It’s not by blood— not even by paperwork. But it’s us.”

“It’s sweet,” Helena added as she skidded to a halt to check a corner before darting around it once she saw the coast was clear. “I could tell she really thinks the world of you.”

Leon couldn’t answer, something constricting in his chest. Abruptly, a man screamed off in the distance down the market path and some chickens scattered. “Shit.”

“Don’t tell me that’s what I thought it was,” Helena hissed beside him.

“Keep your eyes pealed,” Leon murmured, slowing his steps to walk silently, Rot steady in his hand. He could hear the shambling feet of infected, but he didn’t want to end up putting down a fleeing civilian either. He didn’t know the full extent of the situation in Lanshiang and he wasn’t about to make things worse. “Stay close,” he whispered, slipping between stalls and eyeing the skyline of the city just beyond. There was a building at the end of the market, a meat factory from the looks of it. He approached it first, grimacing at the sight of three locks on the door, then glanced to the right where there was a glass paned window, the latch undone. “Helena.”

Helena came to his side, spotting the window and catching on quick. Leon went down on one knee in front of it, carefully hoisting her up so she could reach the windowsill and roll over, inside. A second passed, Helena checking the room, then her hand was out the window, ready and waiting. Leon grabbed her hand and lifted himself up and over, dropping into the meat factory. It stank of sulphur and death and he scrunched his nose. Outside, back in the market, something croaked and slithered to life, a strange, raspy wail filling the air. 

Immediately, Leon and Helena hit the deck, flattening themselves against the wall beneath the window, holding their breath. There was a slap outside, the smack of soggy things coming together, sloshing about like wet clothes. Leon’s skin crawled and Helena squeezed her eyes shut. The horrible noises stalled, and then— retreated. 

Oh thank fuck, it hadn’t heard them. Leon tapped Helena’s knee and pointed forward urgently before beginning to crawl across the disgusting ground, ignoring the guts and innards he was forced to touch. He heard the shuffle of Helena behind him and moved steadily to the exit, getting up only once he was at the far door, pushing it open delicately before sliding back out into the open air of the city. Once Helena was with him, he carefully shut the door behind them, and then promptly shoved a couple of delivery boxes in front of the door, hoping it would be enough to block that entrance forever.

“I am so fucking happy we didn’t see whatever the fuck was making those noises,” Helena deadpanned as Leon shook his hands out, still feeling the creeps.

“Right?” he asked incredulously. “I hate wet things. If something’s gonna kill me, then fine, but please at least let me keep my clothes dry.”

“Leon.”

Leon looked sharply to Helena, then followed Helena’s gaze up. There was a building in front of them, industrial looking with little recognizable features on the surface, a set out exterior stairs heading up to what was likely the second level— and there was a woman at the top of said stairs, slipping inside. She had black hair, a blue dress, and a crimson scarf. Normally Leon wouldn’t trust a split second glance like that, but—

“Ada?!”

“We should follow her.”

Leon nodded, surprised Helena was so eager to go after Ada despite everything. They didn’t know if Ada was working with Simmons— wasn’t Helena normally all about ignoring all distractions for her singular goal? Leon wasn’t going to argue this time. He wanted to know what the hell Ada was doing here too. “Let’s go,” he agreed, keeping his voice low. Helena gave him a nod and Leon took the lead, heading up the stairs as silently as possibly and gently opening the door Ada had disappeared into, toeing inside. He glanced around and saw consoles and control boxes on the walls, tall server towers standing in the middle of the large room. Everything was musty and grimy with a visible dust in the air, the overhead light creaking as it swayed. It smelled like mold and there was an electrical, steady beep from further within. As Leon walked steadily through the room from one server tower to another, he felt a shadow to his left. And his peripherals saw more than a shadow. 

Leon whipped to the side, but it was too late, so he darted forward, pursuing the dark figure he’d only barely seen in a the span of a blink of an eye. He rounded the server tower and saw—

“Ada!”

Ada Wong looked back at him, her expression almost serene as she pushed open the door. There was something off about her, something more waxy than usual, but Leon didn’t have time to think about it— especially when the door Ada had pushed open was suddenly smacked by bullets. Leon and Helena took a step back as Ada ducked low and brought out her stupid sling-shot, aiming it high for the ceiling and vaulting herself away. The sound of gunfire followed her and Leon was too stunned to move.

“What the hell is going on?” Helena asked him, looking to Leon for answers he really didn’t have. 

Part of Leon wanted to just take a step back and focus on their real mission, focus on Simmons so he could ensure Sherry didn’t even go near the man before Leon got his hands on the fucker’s throat. Ada was capable and could handle herself better than Leon ever could. But— she’d always been unarmed from what Leon could tell, which was even stranger for Ada. And that scarf— it was such a liability in the field, too dangerous, to frivolous. Helena was right.

_What the actual fuck was happening?_

He shook his head and ducked for the door, mindful of any bullets that could come his way. He glanced out into the huge open room below but didn’t see anyone, likely meaning whoever had shot at Ada had already moved on in pursuit. Leon huffed. “C’mon, let’s get some answers.” He moved back into the server room to head for a set of stairs off to the left, following them down to a door with a bright red light above it. That was their only way forward, as ominous as it was. As the door swung open, Leon grimaced at the sight of a long hallway and tall vats of a viscous, blue liquid. He knew a fucking nightmare when he saw it. 

There was a ding all the way down the hall— an elevator had been summoned and landed. “Shit,” he hissed, then shouted, “We’ve got to make it to that elevator! Run!”

As Leon sprinted down the hall, Helena hot on his heels, he heard a footsteps. He couldn’t make much out about them except they were heavy and clunking and definitely not their own steps. He slowed even with the urgency making his heart pound and glanced back at Helena to say, “We’re not alone in here.”

Helena opened her mouth to respond, but someone else answer. 

“Captain?”

Leon nearly tripped, his foot catching on uneven paneling below, Leon barely catching himself with Rot tight in his grip. He stared to his right— to the vats— but couldn’t see anything despite knowing someone was there. That voice— didn’t he know that voice?

“Probably whoever was shooting at Ada,” Helena said warily, urging Leon forward again. “One more thing to worry about.”

As Leon was about to agree, there was a flurry of motion high overhead. Leon wrenched his gaze up to see Ada standing above them, at least two or three stories up, looking down at them like a god observing their experiments. And that— really wasn’t like Ada at all. 

_”Glad that you stopped in,”_ Ada drawled, her voice projected over some unseen speaker. _“Like what I’ve done with the place?”_

Leon sprinted forward, more desperate for answers than ever now. It was even worse when they failed to reach the elevator in time, those distinct lumbering footsteps reaching it first and taking it up. Leon watched the elevator rise with a pounding heart, wondering who was beyond that wall and what they wanted, what they were after, what they were going to do if they found Leon and Helena. Was Ada trying to shake an adversary? Was she being hunted? Would these people try to kill them?

“They got to it first!” Helena cursed and kicked the grating of the closed elevator door. “We don’t have time to wait.”  
Leon’s grip flexed on Rot, his nerves alright and frantic. “We’ll take the stairs.” He saw the sign just to their left and he ran for it, shoving open the door and climbing the stairs two at a time, refusing to lose momentum now. Whoever was after Ada was going to be in their way whether he liked it or not— Leon just knew that he wasn’t going to be the one to pull the trigger first. The heavy footsteps reminded him so instinctively of the BSAA and their general lack of subtly— Leon would rather die than fight a soldier with the globe on their shoulder. They were just good people trying to do the right thing. That, and Leon knew Chris would never forgive him if he ever did.

He burst into the top level into a room with a huge, mechanical door at the other end with the label No.00 painted in white with buttons to garner entry on the left and right. He didn’t like the look of it one bit and approached it cautiously, glancing back to make sure Helena was with him. She gave him a reassuring nod from over his shoulder, so Leon cut his chain forward. “Okay,” Helena murmured, moving to her button and Leon doing the same. They traded a look, well aware they were going into this blind with two new possible combatants, and smacked their buttons in unison. The doors swept open revealing a dark room with more vats and an opaque wall on the right, metal on the left. He could see almost like a green mist in the air. 

“The hell is this?” Helena asked, sounding a bit like a broken record.

“I don’t know,” Leon admitted, his voice low as he caught sight of shadows moving on the other side of the opaque wall. “But I don’t like the look of it.”

He went to the other side of the room to inspect their only way forward, grimacing as it didn’t budge with a push, and didn’t relent when he shoved his shoulder into it. Leon couldn’t even think with how loudly his heart was pounding. “Locked.” His guts were screaming for him to run somewhere and he had no idea where. His hands were starting to shake. He glanced over into the next room and saw the wavering shadow of a human figure distorted by liquid.

_“We’ve been conducting such fascinating work here.”_

Ada’s voice suddenly drifted through the speakers, Leon startling and whipping around to try and catch sight of her. What was she saying? A grand we and something about experiments? As far as Leon knew, Ada had peddled viruses, but she’d never helped create them. What the hell had she become? And why was she acting so different from how she’d been in Tall Oaks?

_“Countless months of experimentation and trial and error, developing new weapons for the new world— it’s like playing god. I can see why so many have fallen victim to the appeal of weapon production. There’s nothing more exhilarating than imagining the countless lives your genius will claim.”_

Leon’s brow furrowed. “That doesn’t sound like you, Ada,” he whispered to the air.

_“Security breach detected in room one.”_

Leon flinched at the automated voice, looking around again, trying to spot an enemy or a voice. By all rights, they should be struggling for a way out and clawing at the walls. They weren’t even in room one, how was—

_“Security breach detected in room zero.”_

The light by their locked door went green and Leon flinched. He gaze shot to the opaque wall, but he still couldn’t see anything. His gut was turning over, his instincts sobbing and begging for him to do something he didn’t know how to do. There was something _wrong_ with whoever was on the other side, and that was why his mind was screaming for him to reach whoever that was.

… Right? That was the only reason there could be. They had to be bad people. Why else would every fiber of Leon’s being be reaching out for a complete strange?

_“Disengaging locks in room one.”_

_“Disengaging locks in room zero.”_

Leon shuddered as their door audibly unlocked. Helena was grinning until she got a look at Leon’s face. Something must be visibly wrong, because her grin fell away and she took a half step towards him. He thought he heard the voice from the other side of the wall, but couldn’t make much out.He had to say something. _He had to say something._ Leon swallowed hard and forced out, “Someone doesn’t want us to be catching Ada— she might not be working alone.”

Helena nodded, but he could tell she wasn’t buying it— not completely. Maybe that had to do with the fact that their door had somehow unlocked without either of them actually pulling any strings. He ignored her knowing look and moved on, dead set on catching up with Ada. They broke into an empty control room, so Leon just looked for another way forward, kicking in a ventilation cover and crawling through. He came up on a high metal walkway above another one of these huge rooms and scanned the area. He thought he caught sight of a flash of red and made a break for it. “Ada, stop!” he shouted, trying to catch a glimpse of that red again. “We have to talk!”

“Sorry!” Ada answered him— she sounded close yet Leon couldn’t see her. “Not in a talking mood.”

Leon leaped from one causeway to another, leaping over naked pipes and pumping his legs as fast as he could to try and catch up. He could hear lumbering footsteps again and dread slid down his spine, just another fucking problem for him to try to swallow. There was too much going on too fast and he couldn’t cope forever. If he had to fight a member of the BSAA, he would suffer a mental breakdown, Leon knew it. And if Ada was suddenly on the wrong side and actively taking part in all these deaths—

Smoke suddenly burst from beneath him, Leon staggering and reaching back to steady Helena on reflex. There was the whir of a cable and Leon looked up in time to see Ada launch herself across the room. 

There were shouts beneath them, two gruff, male voices, but Leon was too distracted by the inability to breathe properly to actually hear the words or the voices themselves. Helena dragged him through the worst of the smoke and they kept running, their upper walkway leading them right to the huge paneled windows Ada had flung herself towards. More shouts below, more voices, but Leon could barely think. He saw two hulking figures— soldiers or something— corner Ada against a wall, their sighs aimed down on her. Leon didn’t know what Ada was doing or what her goal was, but she knew shit he didn’t and shit he needed to know. Like it or not, Leon was going to have to stop those men. He just prayed he could do it without hurting them. 

He reached the end of the causeway and didn’t hesitate in dropping down below and charging for the first soldier, a silhouette backlit by the city that Leon blindly shoved away by the muzzle of the gun. 

Shots fired wildly, missing Ada. Leon reached down for the sidearm he knew was on every soldier’s hip, but his hand was grabbed and a huge arm swung for his head. Leon threw himself back and away, narrowly missing what would’ve been a fist to the skull, his breath freezing in his lungs before he went low and swung his leg around, hoping he’d hit more chest than head himself. The soldier ducked beneath him— trained in close combat well enough to actually predict Leon’s moves, not a good sign for Leon concerning whoever this was and their combat experience— and spun around, slamming an elbow for Leon’s temple. Leon blocked it with both hands, grunting with the strength behind the blow. 

This man was a fucking _tank._

The elbow went down, two huge hands grabbing Leon by the shoulders and bending him over, a knee coming up and slamming into his chest. He cried out, the wind knocked from his lungs, but brought his own leg up and guarded from the second blow, throwing back his own elbow over his shoulder and hating that he was blocked again. The soldier was good, too good, he was likely a veteran for this sort of shit, meaning Leon didn’t know how he was going to end this fight without severely hurting them. He was just trying to stun and gain some distance, trying to stop the fight so he could get a word in, but it was starting to look impossible while still maintaining an upper hand. As Leon suddenly realized just how bad this situation was, the man went low and grappled Leon by the waist, trying to drag him back and throw him onto the ground. 

Leon caught sight of a patch of a globe emblazoned on the man’s shoulder.

Leon would rather let himself _die_ than hurt a member of the BSAA.

He kept his weight down by his legs, bending his knees and getting an arm around the soldier’s ribcage, using momentum to make him spin around Leon’s planted foot rather than body slamming Leon. The man somehow wormed himself behind Leon and Leon threw an elbow back again uselessly, wincing as it was caught. The soldier brought both of Leon’s arms behind himself and held tight, hot breath on Leon’s neck, the body pressed against him from behind. Something awful in Leon’s chest thrilled at the closeness and he— bizarrely— remembered Krauser calling him disgusting.

Leon wrenched his left arm free and spun around on light feet, getting a loose arm around the soldier’s neck to try and make him falter. The arm was easily pushed off and one of those hands went into Leon’s belt, grabbing his hip, the soldier throwing Leon over his back like Leon weighed nothing. Leon realized there wasn’t going to be an easy way to end this and rolled with the fall, whirling around and snatching up Rot, holding the sights down on—

Leon stopped breathing. Stopped thinking , stopped feeling, stopped existing. Everything just—

Stopped.

“Chris?”

Chris’s brow furrowed at the sound of his name, looking so confused, so thrown by the man he was seeing in front of him, but that was Leon’s schtick right now, Leon was the only one who was allowed to be stunned beyond words, because Chris was standing in front of him, dressed in combat gear, holding a gun at Leon’s face, standing there, _alive._ Leon’s hands were shaking like a leaf. He was going to throw up.

Then Chris opened his fucking mouth and _spoke._

“Leon?”

Leon could have collapsed right then and there. Never again had he thought he’d ever hear his name from the lips of Chris Redfield. Never again had he thought he’d see Chris before him, staring into him with those deep, welcoming eyes. Never again had Leon thought he’d look upon the man he loved more than anything. Never—

_—never—_

Had Leon thought he’d see Chris ever again in his entire miserable life. Not even as a corpse. He had never even dreamed of the possibility of seeing Chris in any capacity because it had hurt too much. It was funny, though—

Here Chris was, alive and breathing, and it was hurting just as much as Leon had feared seeing him dead would.

Chris shook his gun and shouted, “What are you doing here?!”

Leon flinched. A fully-body, shattering flinch. He still couldn’t breathe. He thanked god he didn’t have anything trying to kill him right now because he would never make the shot. And Chris had asked him a question. A question Leon couldn’t even begin to formulate an answer to, so he shook his head and tried to thinking, beginning, “I—”

Footsteps clattered, Helena running up behind Chris, her gun up. Leon’s instincts flared and told him to tell Helena to put the gun away, take it off Chris, Chris wasn’t a fucking threat, and if he ever was one day, then Leon would welcome the bullet in his head. It was only after Helena arrived, though, that Leon suddenly realized the additional presence. 

Piers Nivans was behind him. 

Had Piers—

“Chris,” Leon said again, tasting the name and swallowing down a shudder, needing to try and think straight. He had so many fucking questions by now, but there was only one that was truly important to him. “You’re— you’re alive?”

“A-Agent Kennedy!” Piers Nivans suddenly called out, Leon not looking away from Chris just yet, scared he’d disappear the second Leon did. “I’m sorry, he’s been in Edonia. BSAA had me bring him in immediately.”

Leon snapped his head back to Piers, suddenly furious. Of all the fucking BSAA bullshit— _“Why didn’t anyone tell me he’s alive?”_

While Leon wasn’t looking, Chris took a step forward— took a step towards _Ada._ Clarity slammed into Leon’s bones. Chris and Piers were the people pursuing Ada— they were intending to kill her. Leon couldn’t let that happen, so he took a step to the side, getting between Chris and Ada again, hating himself for everything. “Put the gun down, Chris.” There were tears in his eyes and Leon blinked rapidly a few times to try and get rid of them. He wanted to put Rot down so badly it hurt. “She’s a key witness, we need her.”

Chris sneered and it was a terrible thing to see. “A witness?!” Oh fuck, he sounded so _angry._ “She’s the one who did all this!”

Leon had to cut his chin to the side to recover from what Chris’s shouting voice did to his psyche. Cigarettes, would he ever be rid of the smell of cigarettes? “No,” he told Chris firmly despite the horrible feeling in his entire being. “It wasn’t her, it was Simmons, the National Security Advisor.”

Chris took another step forward, his gun getting close. “I lost all my men because of her!”

 _“And I lost over seventy-thousand people— including the president— because of Simmons!”_ Leon’s own outburst had him faltering, terrified that he could raise his voice and sound like that. And Chris still hadn’t lowered his gun— why weren’t they lowering their guns? What had happened? They loved each other, they would always love each other, why were they—

A horrible thing occurred to Leon. This entire time, he’d lived with the idea that Chris would have accepted him that October second if Leon had had the chance to ask. But what if—

What if Chris had intended to reject him from the start? What if Leon’s earth shattering and all-encompassing love was suddenly unrequited? What would he do if he suddenly had Chris back but would never have Chris _back?_ What was there to fight for now that Chris was alive to save the world in Leon’s stead?

No, that— that was too much. That’s too much. 

Get out of your head, Officer Kennedy.

Leon watched Chris swallow hard from over the barrel of their guns. “She’s working for Neo-Umbrella. You know what that means?”

Leon nodded, hating the word on an intrinsic level, same as Chris. He couldn’t afford to think about the future right now. Chris was alive and in a war zone and so was Leon and that was it— that was all he could afford to think about. Anything else would get him killed. 

“Yeah,” he replied softly, readjusting his grip on Rot so the gun wouldn’t shake right out of his hands. “I do.” He took in a deep breath to continue, try and convince Chris that they needed Ada despite everything she’d done. “Chris— I know where you’re coming from. I know you’re hurting and I know you’re seeing Raccoon City in every fire in this place, I know you’re seeing Branagh and your friends, but we can’t allow these people to get away by firing blind.”

Chris— suddenly looked confused again. What had Leon said? Was it appealing to his reason or was it bringing up Raccoon City? How could Chris _not_ be seeing Raccoon City in this horrible mess? But then Chris leaned back like he needed to escape something and repeated, “Branagh?”

That—

No.

Chris knew Lt. Branagh, the man’s death had been harder on Chris than any other in Raccoon City. Chris knew Branagh, Chris had told him how Lt. Branagh had been the first to welcome Chris into RPD, _Chris knew Branagh._

“It’s retrograde amnesia from a head injury he sustained in Edonia six months ago,” Piers suddenly said, Leon whipping around to look to Piers in genuine disbelief. Piers’s expression was twisted with something like grief. “I’m sorry, Agent Kennedy. I don’t even think he remembers Claire.”

Leon couldn’t help it— he whipped around on one foot to level Piers with the most furious, most dangerous look he was sure he’d ever worn in his life and snarled, “What the hell is he doing in the field, Nivans?!”

Piers’s eyes were big— then they went huge, looking to Chris, yanking his gun up as he shouted, “Captain!”

Leon moved on pure instinct, going low and throwing up an arm back where Chris was, keeping his body between Chris and Ada just in case. He saw the flash canister hit the ground and saw the smirk on Ada’s face just before the world went blindingly bright. Leon cried out from the shock of it and the pain in his eyes, but Chris was behind him, safe, and that was what mattered. As the light faded, Ada’s slingshot whirred again, and she launched herself to the floor below, running away with a briefcase Leon hadn’t noticed before in hand. 

Gunfire spattered to Leon’s left, his gaze shooting to Piers who was lighting up Leon’s footsteps. The kid missed every shot and he pushed his muzzle down with a curse before breaking away to sprint after her. Helena ran past Chris, going for Piers, but Leon stopped her by throwing an arm out and calling her name. He couldn’t— he couldn’t leave Chris. _He couldn’t leave Chris._

“He’s gonna kill her!” Helena argued, her eyes bright with something unreadable and strange. Leon wasn’t sure when Helena had started to care about Ada this much, but it wasn’t something he could deal with right now. 

Then Chris was moving, grabbing the gun Leon had knocked from his hands and going after Piers, and that wasn’t okay, Leon couldn’t lose him again, he couldn’t lose Chris, don’t go, Chris, don’t you fucking dare—

Leon’s hand was out and grabbing Chris’s shoulder before he could think twice, choking out, “Chris, wait.”

And Chris did. He stopped. He actually fucking stopped and looked at Leon, his eyes searching Leon’s face and finding—

Nothing.

What kind of cruel god brought Chris back just for him to be unable to recognize Leon? Tears sprung into Leon’s eyes again, unbidden and uncontrollable. It just— it wasn’t fair. It wasn’t anywhere close to fair. But it wasn’t Chris’s fault that he didn’t remember. It wasn’t Chris’s fault he had been pushed into the field. And it wasn’t Chris’s fault that everything was always horrible. Leon— understood. He understood why Chris was going after Ada and he wasn’t going to be able to stop him. But maybe— maybe— Leon could convince Chris to let her live. But first—

“I—” Leon could barely get the words out, drowning in those eyes that he’d never thought he’d look into again. “I’m so happy you’re alive.”

Chris blinked at him like he was surprised to hear Leon say that at all. If Chris really didn’t know Leon, then why wouldn’t he be surprised? A complete stranger grabbing him in the middle of an infested city, crying over his return when Chris didn’t even know he had someone like Leon missing him. Of course Chris would be surprised by just about everything Leon did when it came to him. 

Leon needed to move on before the reality he was facing drowned him. “Chris,” Leon began again. “I know you’re angry. I know you’re hurting. But I know what you’re like— and I know you’re not the type of man to act like this. Act so senselessly. I know— I know you.”

Chris stared back into him. “… Do you?”

Leon was going to fucking cry and he did _not_ want Chris to see that, not when Chris was like this. Leon didn’t want to overwhelm the poor many any worse than he already was. Leon shuddered a breath and fought to control himself like a professional would. “I do,” he said, throat strangled with emotion. “I do, Chris, better than most.” He liked to think he knew parts of Chris that no one else in this world had ever seen. 

“So trust me when I tell you that you will find peace for your men and you will find peace for yourself. But we can’t do that for everyone— for the seventy-thousand lost in Tall Oaks— if you kill Ada Wong. Okay?” Leon moved his hand forward, but then he stopped. He realized he wanted to touch Chris, but he’d also realized that he couldn’t. “I need her alive. I’m begging you— let me have the same peace you’re looking for. Let me avenge the people I’ve lost too.”

Chris swallowed hard at Leon’s plea, his eyes flitting back to where Piers was likely awaiting his captain, but Leon couldn’t look anywhere but Chris. His heart ached for the man who was looked to for such unrealistic and impossible strength. The weight on Chris’s shoulders had always been insane and far too much for a single man— Leon couldn’t imagine how it felt for this Chris to carry the weight of a person he couldn’t even recognize in the mirror. 

He wanted to wrap Chris up in his arms and promise it was going to be okay, whisk him away from the violence and death, but he couldn’t and it _killed_ him. Chris wouldn’t want that, not the Chris he was now, and Leon couldn’t let more people suffer at Simmons’ hands. But as Leon stood in front of Chris and tased every line in the man’s face, inwardly wailing to the sky for what they were both being forced to suffer on top of everything else, Leon wanted nothing more than to throw his mission into the ocean and stay at Chris’s side, wherever he may end up.

Chris wet his lips and stared into him again. “Leon,” he murmured, voice low and scraping on the edge of tortured. “On me?”

Leon— would give anything to let the world burn so he could follow Chris forever. He realized, in that very instant, that Chris would be the one exception to every rule he’d ever had. Maybe when Leon had been young and angry, he’d been able to tell himself that wasn’t the truth, maybe the hurt from Spain had twisted his worldview, but Leon knew who he was now, and he knew what he needed to live. He needed Chris— and he was going to deny himself that for what? Saving people from death? More would be dying by next week. It was all so useless and Leon had forced himself to continue in the memory of a dead man who was suddenly alive in front of him. So what was the point of living out a dead man’s dream when he could just live with the dead man?

He wanted. He _wanted._ But he was so used to denying himself what he wanted that Leon already knew what he was going to do. And he hated himself so much for it that it was traumatic. 

Chris’s words echoed in his head.

On you?

On me.

Two words that meant so much more between them. Leon had thought he’d never get to hear those words again.

Leon lifted a hand and rested it on Chris’s shoulder, squeezing gently, knowing his line. “On you,” he replied softly, reverently. He wondered if Chris understood that they weren’t checking a status— they were trading a declaration. Leon had just told Chris he loved him, point blank to his face in their own intimate tongue. 

Something flared in Chris’s eyes. Leon realized that a part of Chris, deep down, absolutely understood what they’d just said to one another. 

“I’ll make it back to you,” Chris suddenly declared. He was moving away from Leon and towards Piers and Leon mourned the distance with every step. “I— I will.”

Leon smiled brokenly, knowing that the world was a monster and Chris could die tonight after Leon had only just gotten him back no matter what they promised. But still— “October second?” A date still steadily approaching, but suddenly so much more unsure than it had ever been before. He wondered if Chris would get it all back by then. He wondered if Chris would get it all back at all. And— he wondered if Chris knew that Leon would still love him, always and forever, no matter what Chris knew or didn’t know. He wondered if telling Chris that right now would make Chris ask Leon to follow him. If Chris asked, Leon knew he would follow, Simmons be damned. 

Chris nodded, walking backwards now, almost like he was unable to drag himself away from Leon as well. “Yeah,” he said to the date, nodding, staring into Leon like he could dissect him with his gaze alone. “I’ll be there, Leon— I promise I’ll see you again.”

Then Chris was turning away and running after Piers, who fell into a dogged pursuit of where Ada had been. 

Leon couldn’t do this.

He collapsed to his knees and stared at where Chris had been, clutching his hand that was still warm from Chris’s body to his chest and trembling apart right there on the floor. “It’s too much,” he rasped, clutching at his heart hat was seizing in his chest. “Oh god help me— it’s too much.” Simmons, Sherry, Ada, and now Chris. He was one man, he was just one fucking man, _it was all too much._

“Leon— what?”

“I need a minute,” Leon blurted out, hands shaking so badly that he was forced to wring them together. “Give me a fucking minute.”

“Leon, if they hurt Ada—”

“I’m about to have a mental breakdown right in front of you if you don’t give me just a single fucking minute!”

Leon didn’t mean to raise his voice— hated raising his voice in general in most situations— but Helena wasn’t listening and Leon didn’t have a lot left in him to beg. Chris wouldn’t leave his thoughts and Leon’s heart wouldn’t stop racing at a dangerous pace. He was terrified, more terrified than he’d ever been in his life, because Chris was somehow alive and yet _here._ Leon had him back and Chris had already walked away. What if he died for good this time? What if Ada killed him? What if Chris had returned for a fleeting moment only for Leon to be robbed once more? He couldn’t survive the pain _twice._ Leon couldn’t survive all of this. 

“That was him,” He choked out, still staring at where Chris had last been seen, his large, reassuring frame burned into Leon’s vision like a sunspot. “My partner— the one I’d lost.”

Helena was blessedly quiet once Leon told her that.

“Oh fuck,” Leon whispered to himself. “Fuck, _fuck!_ ” He stood quickly and pulled Rot out, his eyes wild. “We need to move.” Helena was watching him like she was afraid of him— or _for_ him. “We need to move, Helena.”

“If he’s alive, why aren’t you following him?”

Leon was baffled by the question. Wasn’t she the one who had just been yelling at him to move? Weren’t they here to avenge Helena’s sister and all of Tall Oaks and— and Adam? Fucking get moving, Kennedy, he couldn’t wallow here forever, he had a world to fight for. Leon turned away from Helena without a word and tried to stop the shaking of his hands. He didn’t say another word to Helena, too overcome by the echo of Chris saying his name for the first time in six hellish months.


	8. Chapter Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is like *a lot* shorter than my usual thing (and not at all long enough to excuse how long it took I am so sorry) but tbh chris's character arch low-key ended for this story his previous chapter narration so I'm like ????? how do how stretch how make chris chris cause that's not actually gonna become resolved until vendetta big yikes
> 
> BUT
> 
> this
> 
> is where you will see the end of me adhering most faithfully to canon.
> 
> at the end of the next chap, please expect big changes to the plot of re6, specifically Leon's route. if you refresh yourself on the tags, I'm sure you will remember why big changes are coming to dead world my friend uwu but yeah I hope I don't fuck with canon to the point it makes some people mad, big yikes. I just wanna save my dumbs country boy ok what's wrong with that fight me

Bizarrely enough, things started to make a hell of a lot more sense as the distance between Chris and Leon grew larger. Chris’s mind felt quieter, his thoughts less sporadic and jumbled up, weighed down by memories he couldn’t draw to the surface. There was less of a panic in his chest whenever his mind skirted over the surface of something he should remember but failed to. It was less— less painful to not know who he was. It was less terrifying to be a stranger in his own body because, at the very least, Leon knew who he was. Leon would be able to help him once this was all over.

Separated from Piers, however, had Chris suddenly thinking. 

They were on some sort of ship, though Chris didn’t know what kind of ship it was. They were pursuing Ada Wong as they had been all night, fighting through scuba-diving freaks that would succumb to the strangest mutation of a gigantic grub the size of a person consuming the body, transforming the infected into a shambling mess of pulsing white flesh. Chris had been trying to go for a bulkhead door that had closed when he and Piers were suddenly separated, thrust to opposite ends of the room.

At first, Chris had been terrified for Piers Nivans, which was a new sensation all on its own. It was like meeting Leon had opened the floodgates of Chris’s emotions, a sudden, overwhelming anxiety for his soldier making it hard for Chris to function when Piers wasn’t in his line of sight. The worry was all consuming, a constant piercing agony in his lungs and throat and chest, Chris barely able to deny himself the urge to chime into comms every passing second and keep Piers talking constantly so Chris would know the second something went wrong— even if Chris wouldn’t be able to do anything about it if it happened at all. He wasn’t sure he liked this new part of himself, this worry, but he couldn’t change Chris Redfield, and it was comforting to feel a little more like himself in the first place, whoever that really was. 

But what the separation brought was also a small amount of wariness. 

Leon had asked Piers why he hadn’t been told Chris was alive. Leon had shouted at Piers when he’d found out about the memory loss. This whole time, had Piers known Leon was someone so intrinsically important to Chris Redfield that Chris’s very psyche was interwoven with the man’s existence? Had Piers known Leon was paramount to Chris’s wellbeing? It was the only thing that made sense, after all, the only explanation as to why Chris suddenly felt like _Chris_ only after seeing Leon. Leon was _someone_ , and Piers had known as much. Why else would he have apologized for not informing Leon of Chris’s survival? And why else would he look so almost scared of the man’s wrath? 

Piers had answers that Chris needed _now._ And as they reunited on the metal walkway at the other end of the room, in front of an electrical control box that Piers moved towards to short and open the door with, Chris grabbed Piers by the shoulder, squeezed tight to affirm Piers was alive and breathing, and said, “I have a couple questions for you.” 

Piers looked nervous. 

Chris added, “About Leon.” 

Piers looked _terrified._

“You know him.”

Piers pulled away, opening the electrical box panel and reaching for the wires after pulling a pair of pliers from his back left cargo pocket. “… Yeah,” he admitted as he worked, tongue peaking from between his lips in concentration. Chris knew he shouldn’t be distracting the soldier, but he would really appreciate some answers, and he felt like Piers owed him as much. Leon himself had been horrified Chris had been brought into the field. _Someone_ had done a major faux pas in allowing Chris to be deployed. Getting answers was his idea of repayment for the grievance. 

“Yeah,” Piers repeated. “Yeah, I know him. But, uh, he’s known me even longer than the other way around.” Chris’s brow furrowed at that. “What— got me into this whole shitfest, what got me into the world of BOWs was the Harvardville Airport incident,” Piers explained, his voice a little rough at the edges. “I’m guessing you don’t remember it, but I think you will one day. A T-Virus outbreak in an airport with only five civilians and two special response members making it out alive. It was a massacre, a plane went through the building and everything, absolutely insane. I had just gotten into Army SF on my dad’s good word and then the order came out that everyone was being deployed to Harvardville from Fort Carson. SF is already so small that most units were already deployed elsewhere. I was fresh outta boot and honestly terrified. I had enlisted to fight people, not zombies, you know?”

Sparks snapped and Piers drew his fingers back with a soft curse, shaking his hand, the remnants of the shock not nearly as severe thanks to Piers’s gloves. “I was put on top of a HUMVEE, given a rifle because that’s what I’m good at, and kept my sights on the door. I was there for hours, just waiting for it to all go tits up and then that would be the end of my enlistment— under the teeth of a zombie. Instead, three people went in and came out with five more, losing one.” Piers twisted his fingers and more sparks flew, but Piers didn’t flinch this time, his eyes trained on his task. “Agent Kennedy was the last person to leave the building. I didn’t know who he was or the things he’d already accomplished by then. I just remember seeing him striding from that building with his head held high and thinking… Well, thinking that I wanted to be like him.”

Piers gave Chris a wretched little smile. “If only I’d known— Agent Kennedy was able to hold his head high cause he was used to hell.” He looked back to the panel. “Turns out he noticed me and kept tabs on me. Pretty sure he had something to do with my enlistment in the BSAA once I’d done enough time in SF to qualify for BSAA. Then you came and got me and then I was one step closer to becoming the man who was, essentially, my hero. And I still hadn’t even known the guy’s name.”

Piers twisted and then shoved his arm into the wires, reaching for something deep within, brow furrowed. “Couple years later, after the Marhawa Incident, he found me in a bar. Told me to keep an eye on you and that he was gonna ask you out and to let you know. Apparently you two have history. I’ve tried asking Claire about it— your sister— but she would just get this sad look on her face and change the subject.” Piers hissed and then pulled something deep inside, the light above the bulkhead suddenly going a bright green, the door itself sliding apart. Piers grinned triumphantly for only a moment. “When I told you he was gonna ask you out, you had the strangest look on your face.”

Chris wet his lips, digesting all of this slowly. “… October second?”

Piers looked to him in shock. “Yeah,” he confirmed. “How’d you know that?”

Chris looked away and down the opening, knowing they should get moving but needing just a little bit more. “It’s all I could remember,” he confessed, voice low. “And all I had was…” He paused, wondering if he and Piers were close enough for something like that. “… A photo. And the memory of a— of a police officer.” Which had only become clear to him now, the uniform and the blue eyes. That was Leon, wasn’t it? “A police officer,” he repeated.

Piers winced. “You’ve told me about an officer,” he said softly, approaching Chris with caution, a hand going to his shoulder. “You— I’m sorry, Chris, but you told me he died.”

Chris’s gaze snapped back to Piers in confusion. “What?”

Piers nodded, his expression solemn. “Agent Kennedy confirmed it as well. The police officer from Raccoon City. The officer is dead.”

“No he’s not,” Chris said, absolutely sure of this one and only thing. As Piers’s opened his mouth to argue, Chris went on. “The police officer is Leon.”

Piers’s mouth slammed shut so sharply that Chris could hear his teeth clack. “Leon is the police officer from Raccoon City,” Chris said with more certainty than he’d managed in six months. “He has the blue eyes and the hands and the skills. Leon— Kennedy?” That didn’t sound right. Leon Kennedy was correct, but it didn’t sound _right._ “Leon Kennedy is Officer Kennedy from RPD. I know that for a fact.”

Piers was visibly stunned. “But he told me—”

Gunshots cut him off, Chris slamming himself against the nearest wall for cover as he fired into the mouth of the exposed bulkhead. Neo-Umbrella’s finest weren’t something for him to fear, his bullets slamming home and crippling the operatives, the steady rattle of his gun centering him in the same way Leon’s hand on his shoulder had made his thoughts slide back into place. Chris moved ahead once the infected were put down, reaching a door that warned of danger. “Piers, c’mere.” His soldier obeyed a lot more readily than he had in the past few hours, helping Chris pull open the door just wide enough so they could both dart through and get—

Outside.

The air whipped across Chris’s face, cold and unpleasant like razor blades on his skin. He looked out at the retreating skyline of Lanshiang, the lights still burning bright despite the destruction within. The barge they were on was moving quickly, black water swirling below the walkway they had broke out onto. Chris grimaced as he tried to catch sight of the large lifted platform that would hold the controls for this place. They needed to get back to dry land somehow once Ada Wong was in their custody.

And wasn’t that crazy in and of itself? Chris suddenly acting a little more like Chris _Redfield_ , intending to capture Ada Wong rather than kill her despite all she’d done. Was it really that simple? Was Leon really that important?

A spotlight swam over their position, pulling Chris violently from his thoughts and bringing him back to their precarious situation. He cursed and ducked down behind the railing as more gunfire spattered the wall just above them, Piers gritting his teeth across from Chris. They met eyes, Piers’s own gaze palpably unrested. They were on a random barge heading into the middle of the black ocean with the enemy surrounding them and no idea where Ada Wong was. The kid was, by all rights, terrified. 

Chris flashed him a disarming grin. “We gotta get up top— you ready for a brisk jog, soldier?”

Piers instantly relaxed and met that grin with something almost like one of his won. “You got it, Captain.”

“On three?”

“On three.”

They stared into each other, counting down with sharp nods of their heads, before they were both up and running in perfect unison, sprinting to the nearest set of stairs they could find. The gunfire followed them, but there was only the way in front. Chris lead the charge, darting up the levels first to ensure nothing was in their way, Piers hot on their heels as the climbed higher and higher, closer and closer to the top levels where Ada Wong had to be. 

Chris reached the top level just seconds before Piers, almost skidding across the grating as he made a sharp turn for the door that would bring them back inside the barge. He pulled at it desperately, Piers joining him on the other side, the two of them getting the door open so they could slip back inside, away from the oppressive fire. The second the door slammed shut behind them, Piers let out a huge gush of air, bending down and bracing himself on his knees. “Gotta say,” Piers panted, his chest heaving. “The adrenaline crash— never gonna get used to it.”

Chris clapped a hand on Piers’s shoulder and said, “You did good despite that. Let’s keep going.” The look Piers gave him was something akin to a puppy receiving praise from its master. Chris ached to realized just how much it must have been hurting Piers to be so at ends with him before if Piers fed off his approval so readily. Harsh static burst in Chris’s ear, interrupting their moment of reprieve.

_“HQ to Alpha— fighting in the city has spread. You need to apprehend Ada Wong now.”_

Piers winced and Chris felt awful to consider how many BSAA men must have been lost by now. “Copy that,” he replied grimly, wishing he were faster. “Tell our boys to hang in there.” He looked around the room and recognized it to be a control area of heavy machinery in the large area below where tanks and artillery were being stored. There was a map on the wall that Chris went to, glancing it over, sighing as he realized they had to get through this room too. 

“Hopefully they don’t have too many men,” he told Piers. “Because we need to cross and get up that ramp on the other side.” It was just an ordinary metal ramp that led up to the upper level at the opposite side of the cargo bay, but it was still going to be a hassle. Piers looked tired and Chris hoped they’d finish this sooner rather than later. He went to an opening in the floor and kicked at a pair of metal poles, a ladder dropping down. If it was dark up here, it was even darker below. Either this place wasn’t designed with visibility in mind, or someone was trying to save on their energy bill. “You good to go, Piers?”

Piers gave him a weak smile and nodded. “Just— hoping we can finish this in time.”

The more men they lost, the heavier the weight on their shoulders. Chris knew how Piers felt. They were the ones unable to finish the job and ensure evacuation would be safe for their men. The longer they took, the more soldiers died, as was the reality of war. Just never felt fair to put all that death on the shoulders of one or two men. But— 

Well, if anyone had to carry that weight at all, Chris always preferred it to to be himself. And definitely not Piers. “This is my op,” he told Piers firmly. “My responsibility. Like you said, I’m the one with the vendetta. You’re just following my orders.”

“Except now it looks like we’ve been given some sort of direct order from a member of the US government,” Piers pointed out, even his voice sounding tired enough to match the expression on his face. “Agent Kennedy said we need to apprehend her, didn’t he? So this is more than just your vendetta now, and I— he was right.” Piers looked away, out to the cargo bay. Time was of the essence, but there was to much baggage weighing Piers down for him to be able to think clearly. Chris needed him to lay it all out while he still could so it didn’t trip Piers and get him killed later on. 

“I shouldn’t have brought you into the field,” Piers said, shoulders slumped. “I can tell myself the BSAA insisted as much as I want, but I never got the order from Director Trapp, so I don’t even know who I can blame other than myself. But Agent Kennedy was right. You should have never been cleared for the field. I’m sorry I brought you into this.”

That—

That actually felt kinda good. To know that Piers was sorry Chris had been dragged into China, that he was sorry for making Chris be a soldier when he couldn’t even be himself. It was good to know Piers was taking responsibility even if it wasn’t one hundred percent Piers’s responsibility in the first place. Really, it was just good to get an apology from anyone about this shit. And it was— it was really good to know that at least someone in the BSAA didn’t see Chris as a weapon. Not entirely. Chris dipped his head, meeting Piers’s sorrowful gaze. “Apology accepted.”

Piers heaved a sigh of relief. “Thank god,” he admitted. “I don’t think I’d be able to handle you holding a grudge against me.”

“I know why you did it,” Chris said. “I think.”

“To be honest, even I don’t really know why I did it either.” Piers shook his head. “I think I just— wanted something to feel normal again. Being at your side in a firefight was all I had left.” He ducked his head. “I’m so sorry, Captain.”

Chris’s lips tugged into something like a smile. “For the last time,” he murmured. “It’s Chris.”

Piers’s head shot up to look at him, eyes wide. He swallowed thickly and nodded. “Should we— should we get moving? Chris?”

Chris nodded and headed back for the ladder. “Follow me.”

And Piers did.

Down the ladder, through the barrage of bullets that met them, the _actually fucking aircraft with three giant GE M134 Miniguns_ , and into the safety of the opposite end of the hull. And it felt—

So _fucking_ good. 

It was amazing to be back on the same page with his soldier. Chris still didn’t remember a lot and he knew there was starting to be a good chance that he never would, but he remembered emotions and sensation and nostalgia even if he didn’t know the memory behind it. Moving with Piers, facing down danger and surviving and looking out for His Soldier— all of this brought back a part of Chris that he hadn’t realized was gone until he realized how good it was to have it back. And he knew it was the same for Piers, knew that the soldier was miles better than he’d been a few hours ago, actually able to rely on his captain and look to him for guidance and protection and strategy. There was nothing like the peace of mind in brothers in arms and there was nothing like the effortless and instinctual partnership he felt with Piers.

Well— almost.

Because even as Chris moved through the cargo bay, every time he looked back at Piers he caught sight of RPD blues in his peripherals, the ghost of a man that should be with him at all times and yet was pulled away from Chris by a terrible, cruel world every single time.

They broke into the next area that had a thin veil of fog and far less gunfire, much too quiet. Chris and Piers kept their guns up, eyes trained for the sounds of danger in the encroaching darkness. This entire room was collapsed pipes and crumbled metal, rays of dim light filtering from whatever had been above, casting long, ominous shadows that played tricks on his eyes. Chris held his breath, straining his ears for—

_“Can you feel it spreading through your body yet?”_

Chris flinched at the sound of Ada Wong’s voice over a loudspeaker he couldn’t see. _“I’m just giving you exactly what you gave me, Simmons. At first you’ll be afraid, but don’t worry. You’re just becoming the monster you always were. You— and everyone else on the planet.”_

Chris and Piers traded glances. They didn’t like the sound of that one bit.

_“You and your Family may have shaped the world into what it is today, but starting tomorrow it’s all going to change.”_

The intercom system turned off. Chris forced himself to take slow, careful breaths to keep from freaking the fuck out. Why was he remembering golden eyes like a cat _now_ of all times? Why was he remembering a dark drawl and a sharp scowl and a promise of seven minutes? Fucking christ, what else had Chris forgotten?

“That doesn’t sound good.” Piers stated the obvious with impeccable timing and Chris pushed himself forward. He moved through the room to a door with a wheel on the front, twisting it to unlock the door and heading into a hall with an elevator at the end. He strode into the elevator, waited for Piers to follow him inside, and then hit the button to start the lift. He hoped Piers didn’t comment on his sudden silence. Those cat eyes in his mind’s vision was making it hard to think straight. He could hear the shatter of glass and the scream of a woman as she fell— but fell from where?

The lift stopped. Chris saw a woman in a red shirt with black hair push a door open and slip out of sight. “It’s Ada!” Piers shouted, and by all rights, he might have been right. It was the same face, the same dark hair, and the same agile body, but that— that was where the similarities ended. Chris wasn’t so sure considering she didn’t run the same and was wearing different clothes. Chris had a feeling he’d done this enough to find it strange someone had time for a wardrobe change in the middle of this kind of chaos. But Piers went after Ada first, sprinting out of the elevator like a fool, leaving Chris no choice but to follow him. 

The door she’d disappeared through suddenly clicked shut with a lock, a smudged window to the right allowing Chris to catch another glimpse of her. She didn’t even _stand_ like Ada. Wait— 

Did Chris Redfield know Ada? As in _know her_ know her? Did Chris Redfield know Ada Wong well enough to label mannerisms as correct or incorrect? What the hell was happening to him?

As Piers struggled to unlock the door, Chris met Ada Wong’s eyes through the smeared glass and saw something like relief dawn in her eyes as she— apparently— recognized him. Then she gave Chris a light smirk, a wink, and her lips mouthed words Chris couldn’t hear. Piers shouted Chris’s name and Ada Wong dropped back, running away from him again. He had no choice but to join Piers, helping him pull the heavy switch to swing the door open. They fell into the room just in time to see an even heavier door lower down between them and Ada Wong— and a New-Umbrella operative dart through and fire a gun at them both, point blank.

Chris reacted quickly, bringing up the 909 to slam five shots into the head dropping the infected. 

“We lost her again!” Piers shouted in frustration, kicking the door that had been lowered between them and “Ada.” 

“Keep moving,” Chris ordered, knowing they didn’t have any other choice. “This place is a maze, but it’s all connected one way or the other. We’ll catch up to her.”

“But Captain—“

“It’s Chris,” he interrupted. “And Piers— it’s okay.” Something was going on here, something he was only just realizing that didn’t add up. He knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Leon wouldn’t defend someone unless he had reason to believe they were ultimately capable of good. The Ada Wong Chris and Piers had been pursing all night was not capable of such a thing, not in a million years. But— the Ada Wong with the red shirt and the relief in her eyes at seeing Chris— “Let’s move.”

Again, Piers followed him without question, his faith in his captain renewed, and thank god for that. They moved through the guts of the barge that Chris was starting to worry was more of an aircraft carrier than anything civilian. They caught sight of Ada in the red shirt occasionally through windows, so close yet always kept apart. Piers was starting to lose his cool with each impossible opportunity as Chris’s nerves began to mount, the sensation that something was wrong screaming in his head. Every time this Ada Wong saw him, there was a warmth in her eyes, more of that relief and something else. She recognized him. This wasn’t the Ada Wong they were pursuing and he knew it— he just didn’t know if he actually knew it or if _Chris Redfield_ knew it.

His need to know was beginning to outshine his need for revenge and it felt oddly like losing himself, even if he knew it was the right thing to do, the right way to be. Chris bounded into the upper level, catching sight of the mysterious new Ada Wong across what looked like a large conditions control room, the burning city backlighting her frame. She looked a lot less bulky without the scarf, a lot quieter. Piers let out another shout, but Chris went running first, knowing he needed to catch her and get some answers before he did anything else. The Neo-Umbrella infected gasped through respirators, wheezing as they were riddled with holes and left to die. They sounded like they were suffering, something disquieting about their pain making Chris feel even more off kilter. He had no idea what was going on and he was terrified it was going to get them both killed.

Chris ran past the bodies he dropped to the deck outside just in time to see the red emblazoned Ada Wong fire her grappling gun and lift herself up to the next level. “Dammit!” Piers shouted at his side, his face just as red as Ada’s shirt. “She’s toying with us!”

Chris didn’t know why, but he really didn’t feel like that was the case. After all, the Ada they’d been pursuing seemed to enjoy the sound of her own voice, while this Ada hadn’t even said a word.

She didn’t— _look right._ She didn’t look like Ada Wong. Her face was the same but that was as far as the sameness extended. But her mannerisms, her quiet, the way she stood tall and the way she looked at Chris. It wasn’t Ada Wong. It couldn’t be. The woman in the red shirt was not Ada Wong.

As they burst out onto the top level, the cold wind whipping at his face once more, Chris landed his sights on a woman in a blue dress with a red scarf and knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that something wasn’t right. 

Ada Wong turned to face them, her scarf billowing behind her in the breeze. “Still haven’t had enough, huh?” She flicked an object in her hand, a cube that split down in an angle into a triangle, the flat surface shining almost mechanically. “Even after losing all your men— again?” Chris grit his teeth as she waved her gun in the air. “With your track record I gotta say, I’d hate to be a member of your team, Chris.”

Chris took a step forward without thought only for Piers to hold him back, a hand on the back of his tactical vest. “Don’t listen to her, Captain,” Piers pleaded, a steadying voice cutting through the rage. He was right, Piers was _right._ Chris couldn’t listen to this woman. Leon needed her and Chris wasn’t about to fail Leon ever again. Still—

Why did it feel like he was missing something crucial?

Ada Wong smirked at them like they were playing along with her script perfectly. “But where are my manners?” she drawled, her gun pointed recklessly into the air now. “I mean, really. I should be thanking your men…” She looked over her gun like it was a prop and not a weapon. “… For being such good test subjects.”

Chris shot the fucking gun right out of her hand.

It was a gorgeous shot, even Chris could admit that, the metal flashing in the floodlights as it plummeted to the decks below. Ada Wong was left staring at her empty hand, disarmed and visibly— albeit, barely— stunned that Chris had had enough control to shoot the gun and not her person. She looked to him with a glint in her eyes— annoyance. She was annoyed with him for not playing along.

Fuck Ada wong. Chris lowered his gun, took a steadying breath, and thought of blue eyes pleading for his help. “Ever since Edonia,” he began slowly. “All I’ve wanted is to see you dead.” He’d wanted her head on a pike, he’d wanted her sliced into pieces and thrown aside, he’d wanted her eaten alive, nice and slow, for all the suffering she’d inflicted on his men. All the lives she’d taken. All the pain she’d caused. 

But—

“But this isn’t about revenge,” Chris continued, his voice strong as he thought only of the blue of a police uniform and a young man that smiled easily, talking earnestly about helping the innocent rather than himself. “This is about justice.” Chris stared her down, hoping she understood exactly how fucked she was now that Chris had Leon in his thoughts. He brought his gun up— Piers brought his own up as well— and said, “It’s over, Ada.”

Ada stared back. “You’re right,” she agreed. “It is. The aircraft carrier is preparing for launch.”

Chris’s brow furrowed, glancing to Piers. “Launch?”

“And the dead will flood the streets,” Ada drawled, her arms thrown out like she was basking in the moment. “Déjà vu, boys— Raccoon revisited. But this time, it won’t just be one city.” Her eyes glinted with malice. She looked so sickeningly proud of herself. “It’ll be the _whole world._ ”

Blinding light suddenly filled his vision, Chris taking a step back and putting an arm out to keep Piers behind him as a helicopter swung up and above them. Ada turned around, a sound of shock leaving her lips as she stared down the long range scope of a man in an innocuous suit. There was barely a sound, but the flash of muzzle fire and the blood that spurt from Ada Wong’s back said enough. The helicopter was gone as soon as it had come and Chris was left standing there in dull shock, trying to digest what had just happened.

“You got me,” Ada wheezed, a hand to the bullet wound in her chest. Blood poured from between her fingers, the GSW fatal and bleeding her out fast. “Well played.” She knew who that had been— what the hell was going on? Ada turned to face them and Chris had so many questions that he felt ill. “But no one can stop it now,” she told them, so sure in her dying breaths. She dropped backwards, falling almost gracefully. Chris and Piers ran for the ledge, expecting her to shoot that grappling hook of hers and speed off once more.

Instead, they arrived just in time to watch her body collide with the ground below, the last of her blood bursting from her corpse, the crunch of her bones echoing in Chris’s ears.

It felt like— a loss. More than a failure, a genuine loss. Ada Wong’s death was all he’d been able to think about, the first genuine purpose he’d had since he’d woken up, alone and afraid, in Edonia. Now what did Chris have? He had Piers, he had the BSAA, he had Leon, but he couldn’t remember any of it. What he could remember where the cocooned corpses of his men, silently reaching for him even in death, begging to be saved.

But that— that wasn’t something he could fix. He couldn’t change the past. Chris stared down at Ada Wong’s body and knew he still had questions and, even more importantly, he still had a chance for answers. The Ada Wong in the red shirt hadn’t plummeted to the deck below, the helicopter that had swung in and taken out this Ada Wong was a mystery that could be tracked, and Chris had Leon waiting for him, waiting for October second to come. Chris still had _something,_ and he was going to fight for it until it killed him.

“Dammit!” Piers shouted, yanking himself away, his eyes wild. Chris couldn’t look away from the corpse for just one more moment. He wondered if Leon would blame him for not having been able to stop Ada Wong from dying. “What the hell just happened?!”

Chris heard shuffling and then a soft, mechanical noise. He turned back to see Piers on his knees by the briefcase he’d seen Ada Wong carrying earlier. There was a single vial with two more empty spots for similar vials, the liquid inside gleaming a neon red. “This looks like a different strain,” Piers observed clumsily. “There’s two missing.”

“Just take what’s left,” Chris ordered. “We’ll bring it back to Rebecca for analysis.”

Piers looked up at him with a frown. “Rebecca— you mean in R and D?”

Rebecca Chambers, ex-S.T.A.R.S. combat medic and genius of the BSAA’s R&D department, holed up in University of Illinois with more grants than she could handle, the pinnacle of vaccine technology development. The name and details and the face were easy to remember as breathing, so sudden and familiar that Chris shuddered a breath. He nodded to Piers. “Or anyone in HQ— they can tell us what we need to know.”

Despite everything that had just happened, there was a sudden hope in Piers’s eyes to see Chris actually remember someone.

Chris turned away, keying into comms. “This is Alpha leader— I need a report on the missing vessels, ASAP.”

_“The city has been compromised and we’ve lost contact with all local assets. We need more time.”_

Fuck.

“We don’t have it!” Chris bellowed, suddenly realizing just how bad this whole situation really was. “The terrorist assault was just a diversion! The real attack will spread the virus globally!”

No one answered.

Piers looked to him again and asked, “Now what?”

Chris glanced into the ship, running through everything he knew, everything he could do, every—

Wait— he’d been able to strip a gun easy as breathing without any memory of who he was. Chris was sure he could rely on his muscle memory even if he couldn’t depend on his own consciousness. “Let’s check the rear hangar,” he ordered, already heading for the door that would lead them back into the cramped guts of the carrier. “There have gotta be some planes back there.” Something he could fly— something that could get them into the air with this aircraft.

“Yes sir,” Piers said as he followed Chris into the elevator, the two of them clambering inside and sending the lift down.

_“Alpha team,_ ” came the static in Chris’s ear. Thank god they hadn’t been truly abandoned. _“We’ve confirmed that Wong was telling the truth. There’s a fully armed aircraft carrier in open water not far from your location. Satellite imaging indicates they’re getting ready to fire missiles on the mainland. It’s imperative that you stop them from launching even a single one.”_

No shit.

“Copy that, HQ,” he said grimly, There was nothing else to be said.

“She’s gone.”

They had a ways to go down the lift, so Chris didn’t feel like he was wasting time when he turned to Piers and said, “There was nothing we could do.”

The young man looked tired. From what Chris had gathered, Piers had been hunting for Chris for six months just to bring him back and salvage some of what Piers had lost. And if Piers had lost as much as Chris had, then that meant he’d hated Ada Wong as much as Chris did, even if he was better at not letting the hatred show. Losing Ada Wong to a nameless figure, robbed of the closure, had to be harrowing. 

“There was nothing, Piers,” Chris insisted again, hoping he could bring Piers some solace. “There’s— something strange going on. Something we don’t know. And I think it has something to do what that Director Simmons Leon was talking about.”

If anything, Piers only looked like he felt worse. “I let Agent Kennedy down again,” he said stiffly, voice strangled as he watched the floors dropped away. “He asked us to get Ada Wong in alive, right? Couldn’t even get that done. Jesus. First you, now this. After everything he’s done for me, and I just keep failing him.”

Chris— hated that he knew the same feeling so well. “If it helps,” he began carefully, wondering if his gut was even correct. “I have a feeling Leon’s not the kind of person to hold this sorta thing against us. I think he understands that sometimes bad things happen out of our control.” If anyone understood that, then it had to be Leon.

Chris turned to face Piers, solidified in his stance and where they were going. “We may have failed Leon here, but we won’t do it again,” he told Piers firmly, staring into the young man’s tortured gaze and hoping he found a kind of solace in Chris’s own determination. “We still have people relying on us— people that need to be saved. And as far as I know, you and I are the only ones who can save them.” He clapped a hand on Piers’s shoulder and held firm.

“We’re not done here, soldier,” he told Piers. “We’re not done until we’re dead. You with me?”

Piers swallowed hard, but there was resolve in his eyes as well, matching Chris. Chris hoped he was finally becoming the man Piers needed him to be. “I’m with you, Captain,” Piers told him, his voice level and young and strong. “I’m with you until the end of the line.”

Chris could only hope that would be enough. The elevator landed and Chris squeezed Piers’s shoulder one last time before darting into the swaying ship, only seeing the next opportunity to make the world a little safer in his singular focus to be exactly who Leon thought Chris was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> again, thank you so much for all your lovely comments ;u; y'all keep me going bless you and your bloodlines


	9. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry ok I'm sorry it's long it's 15k I'm just so sorry
> 
> also it's official fuck re6 canon this is my rodeo now
> 
> *I'm coming to save you piers*
> 
> (and also you random BSAA driver that did not deserve to die like that during Simmons' second stage like wtf capcom you're not even trying anymore)

The city sprawled beneath them, survivors clambering close together, clinging to one another in the safe zone as they celebrated being alive. From above a slowly moving convoy, Leon watched, his heart slowly in its frantic thrum for the first time in ages. He watched friends and families and even strangers cling to one another in disbelief, cries of relief filling the air, the sound of joy at making it out of hell a universal language. Leon’s grip tightened on Rot, his hands still shaking despite the peace that was slowly filtering into his awareness— a peace that was undeserved.

A peace that would be disturbed in seconds.

Hannigan chimed into Leon’s ear. _“Sherry and her companion have been abducted. Our satellite places them at an undersea oil field about eighty miles from you.”_

“Abducted?” Leon’s voice broke and he couldn’t control himself. “ _Why?_ ”

It was over, it was supposed to be over, the people were evacuating via BSAA escort ,why the fucking hell was Sherry suddenly in danger all over again after she’d escaped Simmons?

Sherry was underwater. Somehow, somewhere, off the coast and with only Jake Muller to keep her safe. Not necessarily a bad thing when coupled with the fighting ability Leon had witnessed in her, but Leon knew better than anyone just how quickly a situation could go tits up despite his best abilities. Sherry was in danger and Leon couldn’t get to her because he was just in Tatchi and nowhere fucking near her location with no surmisable way to reach her. His need to bring everything to close was warring against his need to see his daughter safe, and towering above all of that was the frayed edges of his thoughts that screamed for him to find Chris and never let go. There was too much going on, there was _always_ too much, and Leon wasn’t as young as he used to be. He wasn’t sure he could keep going like this without losing his mind. Hell—

Maybe he really would end up like his father if he wasn’t careful.

“The files— the ones she gave us!”

Helena’s exclamation had Leon looked to her, suddenly realizing what she was referring to. The information on the C-virus, the data chip Sherry had passed him. He urgently pulled the chip from his vest, shoving it into the MicroSD slot in his phone. 

“Wait a minute,” Helena whispered as the files flashed across Leon’s screen, scanning revealing specific words that set alarms off in Leon’s head. The files pulled back, a series of pictures coming to center screen. “This is the key to stopping the C-Virus. It’s—”

—A stern glare on the face of a man who looked far too old for his actual age, a scar across the lip, cold eyes on a familiar skeleton, hardened by years of the worst the world had to offer—

“Jake,” Leon said, eyes wide, worry slamming into his chest. They were after Jake, they _were after Jake._ What were they going to do to him, cut him open and splice his cells or something equally terrible? Was he part of an experiment or was it his gene pool? Had— had _Wesker_ done something to his own son? Something unspeakable? Was Jake going to be hurt— or worse— for the C-Virus?

It was too terrible for Leon to imagine. He shoved his phone away and pushed into comms. “Hannigan!”

“If Sherry and Jake are down there, can they even call for backup?” Helena asked her as she frantically pushed through on her device as well, talking with Hannigan on the other end of their comms. “We don’t even know their physical statuses or how they ended up there! If Simmons isn't the one behind it, then who took them?”

“Do you really have time to be asking questions?” Hannigan demanded, her own voice strained. It had been a long night for all of them. A very long night. The joy of reunion below was a joy Leon could not share in. Even if Chris were at Leon’s at this very moment, Chris wouldn’t recognize him, and Sherry was back in hell again. So what the fuck was there to celebrate?

The bitterness was overpowering. Leon had liked to think he was done lamenting how unfair the world was. Apparently he’d been wrong. Leon sighed and pushed his own mic on. “Hannigan,” he said, interrupting the other two. “I have an idea.”

“Is it a stupid idea?”

Probably. Leon shut his eyes and swallowed hard. “Can you patch me in to BSAA’s communication line? To Chris?”

He was answered by silence. Hannigan was one of the few people who knew that Chris had been on operations he would never have his name across, and she’d always kinda known that Leon and Chris were complicated to a fault. She’d been the one to bring Chris into Spain all those years ago, and she’d been the one to handle the trading of sensitive documentation regarding operations between the BSAA and USSTRATCOM turned DSO. She didn’t know the details, but she’d known that Chris’s “death” had hit Leon hard, and she knew that Chris being alive now was nothing short of a liability. 

“Hannigan,” Leon pressed, needing to put his foot down. With Jake possibly in as much shit as Sherry, there were only two other people left in the world he trusted with Sherry, both of them Redfields, and only one of them even remotely near the general vicinity. “Get me through to Chris.”

“Are you sure this is a good idea?”

It was funny— even though Leon knew Chris barely remembered Leon’s name, he also knew that Chris would do him this favor in a heartbeat. The only thing that would sweeten the deal was that Jake Muller, Wesker’s fucking son, had the antibodies for the C-Virus. Seemed pretty important to Leon. Important enough to justify involving the BSAA.

“You never asked if it was good, just that if it was stupid. Patch me through.”

There was the furious clacking of keys, Hannigan sighing heavily into the line. “Alright. Just don’t forget what you’re down here for.”

Simmons. How could Leon forget? After derailing that fucking train and watching the man disappear under the wheels, an unknown message had gone through to Helena’s phone, beckoning them into Tatchi, deeper into the city in pursuit of the man they’d “killed.” Helena had balked at the idea that Simmons was somehow still alive, but Leon really was used to these things having at least three lives total, sometimes four. It didn’t take much to convince her they still had a job to do— it would be better to go to the addressed towers and ensure things really were done for good. So yeah, Leon knew what he was down here for. But he’d be damned before he gave up any more of himself and what he loved for the sake of a never-ending apocalypse. 

There was a moment of immediate silence on the line that was offset by the glamor beneath them. As Leon waited, he caught sight of some BSAA soldiers stomping around in their heavy gear, leading the crowds further away from the hell they’d escaped, the convoy losing a bit of its order.

_“This is FOS, is anyone there?”_

Hannigan broke through the static and Leon took a deep breath to steady himself. Beside him, Helena took a step closer to him, her eyes a heavy weight on the back of his head. Leon shut his eyes and braced for it.

_“Chris Redfield with the BSAA here.”_

Leon felt the voice like a gunshot, beautiful and heart wrenching. He staggered for only just a second, reaching out to catch himself on the railing in front of him, Helena’s hand going to his shoulder to hold him steady as well. There were pinpricks of tears in his eyes, the sound of Chris’s voice alleviating so much grief that Leon couldn’t breathe through the tightness in his chest. His entire being ached to be near Chris, to have him in his sights and never let him escape. If Chris left him in the dust then Leon wouldn’t be able to protect him. He needed Chris next to him to ensure that he wasn’t lost ever again.

But he— he couldn’t have that. Couldn’t allow it. Not while Simmons was out there.

Except part of Leon didn’t even fucking _care_ what Simmons was doing anymore. What the hell was Leon supposed to do with that realization?

_“Hold on, I’m patching you through with Agent Leon Kennedy.”_

_“What—?“_

Leon couldn’t fucking _breathe._

 _“Leon?!”_ Chris demanded sharply into comms, his voice full of urgency. _“Leon, where are you?”_

Leon had been haunted by nightmares and dreams alike of hearing Chris say his name one last time. Now he had those nightmares and dreams coming to life in surplus and he didn’t know what to do with himself. Especially not when Chris sounded so fucking scared.

“Chris,” he replied, his heart rate picking up as he realized Chris’s voice was more than concern for Leon’s relative safety. Something was wrong. “We’re just outside of Tatchi. Why?”

_“Get the hell out of there!”_

Chris’s roar in Leon’s ear led perfectly into a horrible, deafening noise that accompanied a tremor in the ground like the city itself was shifting. Leon cursed and grabbed Helena, bringing her down and covering her with his body as the scaffolding they are standing on swayed dangerously. He dared to lift his head to see what looked like a wave of smoke, purplish in hue and enveloping even the tallest buildings as it billowed towards them. The cries of joy below were extinguished, everyone stopping to stare, a horrible quiet falling over the crowd and the men bearing the BSAA globe. Then one of the soldiers gave a cry of panic and suddenly started shouting for an evacuation, his arms waving wildly in the air, the other soldiers following suit. 

Leon lifted himself, watching the soldiers, then the smoke— the _gas_ — that began to drift into their street, snaking through the crowd. Hoarse coughs began to fill the air, the BSAA soldiers becoming even more frantic as screams began to alter in through the smoke. Dread slid down Leon’s spine and he pulled Helena a little closer. 

“Oh god,” Helena whispered between them, her eyes on the darkness beyond. “Not again.”

Bodies burst from the gas, some of them alive, some of them not, the screams piercing Leon’s ears as corpses grabbed survivors and dragged them to the ground, devouring. The sound of flesh being torn from bone had Leon shuddering, his throat dry, his hand on Rot before he could even make the conscious decision to protect himself. It really told him how much of his life was ruined and scarred by the fights he’d survived.

_“Leon?!”_

Chris’s voice broke through the horror. 

_“Leon, are you alright?!”_

Leon stood, looking down at the chaos below, swallowing hard and pressing back into comms, his heart clenching treacherously to hear how scared Chris was when Leon failed to immediately respond. And how fucked up was it that Leon could feel something so warm in his chest when watching innocent people be eaten alive below? Leon needed an intervention.

“I’m alright, Chris,” he promised as he pressed back into comms, needing to drive the fear from Chris’s voice. “But things just got bad. Real bad.”

Understatement of the night, if anyone asked Leon, but he couldn’t bring himself to terrify Chris all over again. He watched with a heaviness in his chest as a BSAA soldier was dragged to the ground, teeth tearing into the exposed skin of his neck, screaming.

_“Dammit!”_

Chris’s outburst drew Leon from the scene and forced him to steady himself and his thoughts. “Chris, listen to me,” Leon begged, wishing he could be there to soothe the guilt he knew was ravaging Chris. “I need you to rescue two hostages from an underwater oil field. Agent Sherry Birkin and Jake Muller.” He paused. He wondered if Chris knew. “He’s Albert Wesker’s son.”

There was a pause. _“Wesker?!”_

Fuck— he hadn’t known. “Chris,” Leon said again, needing to bring Chris back to him and the task at hand. “He has antibodies for the C-virus.” And he was just a fucking kid— twenty-one years old and not at all deserving to be in this hell. Leon wanted Jake as far away from all of this just as he did for Sherry. Leon preferred to think that no one should experience this level of carnage and stress at such a young age. “We need him safe, Chris.”

 _“I got it,”_ Chris said, all business, and thank fuck for that. _“I’m on my way.”_

“Good,” Leon breathed, still watching below to make sure he had time to be on comms a little longer. He didn’t want to let go of Chris’s voice, the panic so close to settling in as he readied himself to fall into the fight again. “Thanks.”

_“Leon, wait. There’s something I need to tell you.”_

What the hell? Leon frowned, his brow furrowing, waiting for Chris to continue. Was it something about— about them? Or was it about Chris? He was talking so much more confidently, so maybe he was remembering more too? Or maybe it was about Piers? Fuck, was Piers even okay? Leon hadn’t heard from him yet over comms. Or was it worse? Did the BSAA have news? Was shit about to really go south or did they still have a chance?

Chris still wasn’t saying anything. Leon’s nerves were like fire. “Chris?”

_“Ada Wong is dead.”_

Leon’s breath caught in his throat and a thousand emotions flitted through his mind all in a split second. Memories flashed before his eyes, that awful kiss down under Raccoon City, how many times Ada had put a gun on him, the steady warmth she watched him with when he wasn’t supposed to notice, how many times she’d saved his ass from the deadly scenarios of her own making—

In Oslo, when she’d treated him like he was a person for the first time ever and they’d just sat and talked and existed in peace. No viruses, no guns, no pain— 

Just them. 

Ada Wong wasn’t a good person by all rights, but she and Chris had been the only steady constants in his life since everything had changed from worse to abysmal. And now, just as Chris had been six months ago, she was gone.

Could Leon not have a single, solitary good thing in this world? 

He breathed through it, breathed through the pain, thought of Adam and Ada finally meeting in whatever afterlife people went to, and said, “Copy.” He wished the world would swallow him whole. “Sherry and Jake need you.” He swallowed hard. “ _I need you._ Please. Don’t let them down.”

_“… On you, Leon.”_

Oh fuck, _fuck, Leon couldn’t keep doing this._ “On me.”

The radio went silent. Leon felt Helena move closer, her body warm at his side. “Are you okay?”

How the hell could he be? 

Leon looked to her, shoving it all down, every last traumatized little cry, deep into his chest. “Let’s just find the survivors and get the hell outta here.”

Helena hesitated. “… And Simmons?”

_“Echo to HQ, do you read me?”_

Leon looked sharply to the left at the BSAA comms. sounding in his ear, courtesy of Hannigan, and looked down to the soldiers left standing below.

_“HQ to Echo! Report!”_

“Hey! What the hell are you guys doing over there?!”

The voice was close, Leon looking down to see one of the soldiers climbing the stairs to them, waving wildly for their attention and for them to follow. “We need to evacuate. Come on!”

Leon grimaced and tried not to see Chris in the faceless BSAA soldier. Their comms filtered in with BSAA chatter, a man on the end stating that traces of the C-Virus had been detected in the gas. _“Looks like the same gas that hit Tall Oaks!”_

Leon shuddered. He looked up ahead at the tall skyscraper he was supposed to head for to find Simmons, back when there'd only been one step left and hope in front. Now Sherry was up shit creek and Leon had to deal with the same thing that had destroyed Tall Oaks all over again. This was elaborate, even for someone like Simmons. It was starting to look like a global-scale apocalypse rather than an isolated incident. Could Leon even stop this? 

He looked down as they followed the soldier, wondering how they were gonna throw these BSAA men off their scent so he and Helena could move forward. He traded a glance with Helena, wondering where they should even go from here. Could they risk heading into the gas? Their only way forward was through, but would they even survive? Would their luck really last this long?

“We’re moving in to search for surviving evacuees.”

Helena saw a way in and darted ahead of Leon towards another soldier that was on comms with HQ. “Wait!” she called out, reaching towards the soldier for attention. “We need to talk to you!”

The soldier turned to face them and Leon steadfastly ignored the globe on his shoulder. “We want to help,” Leon said.

The soldier looked them up and down, likely having orders to not involve civilians. Leon would’ve shown his DSO ID if he’d thought he and Helena weren’t on some sort of national wanted listed by name for Adam’s death. Simmons had made it pretty clear that they would be indicated as the culprits for the death of the president, and that definitely would’ve made it into the global channels, even with the chaos the BSAA was currently undertaking. So instead of flashing his credentials, Leon stood tall and made sure Rot in his hand was visible. Helena glanced to him and then quickly did the same, trying to mimic his air of professionalism. They didn’t exactly look like civilians in the first place, so it wouldn’t be hard for the soldier to catch on. Still—

“You some kind of military?” the soldier ask, ever cautious about getting a bystander involved.

“We’re with the American government,” Helena said, using bare minimum details. “We can help.”

“I appreciate the offer, but I can’t just bring civilians onto private channels and details,” the soldier hedged. “Look, if you want to help then you can head back to the evacuation center and offer your services to the medical team there, I’m sure they can find something for you to do. But this is a military operation and involving civilians is a risk I can’t—”

Enough of this. Leon pressed into comms, already on the channel for BSAA HQ. “HQ,” he called out firmly. “Is Director Trapp there?” There was no way David wouldn’t be listening in on the most wide spread outbreak since Kijuju. “Tell him a member of the DSO needs to speak with him. An Officer Kennedy.”

There was dead silence on the line from the man on the other end before the HQ representative quietly informed Leon he was being patched through. There was another beat of silence before a familiar English droll filled Leon’s ear. _“I’m sorry, who is this? I wasn’t sure I heard correctly.”_

“David— it’s Officer Kennedy. From Raccoon City.”

There was a soft noise. _“Leon.”_

It was nice to be reminded that he wouldn’t be forgotten so easily by these people. David Trapp always had shown a lot more regret than most the others for what had been done to Leon all those years ago. “Tell your men I’m here to help.”

_“I shouldn’t be surprised to learn you’re in China. But are you sure it’s wise to offer your aid considering you current— legal status?”_

So Leon and Helena really did have a hit out on them. At least David was smart enough to know bullshit when he saw it. Leon frowned a little, knowing he was taking an even larger risk involving himself directly with the BSAA, but it wasn’t like he had much of a choice. He had to get through to Simmons one way or the other. “I’m pretty sure you owe me this much, David. Or would you rather tell me why Chris was cleared for active duty despite his mental status?”

_“… Chris was deployed?”_

Jesus— Leon could write encyclopedic volumes on how fucked up the BSAA was. “Just get me in on this,” Leon ordered, unable to waste time any longer. He wondered who had cleared Chris since it wasn’t David. It couldn’t have been Jill, even though she was well on her way to becoming the Assistant Director in the BSAA. Maybe John had gotten a promotion? But John wouldn’t let that happen either. It couldn’t have been the dispatcher that had gotten Leon through to David, could it? Fuck, why couldn’t these assholes get it together? “I need into the city. To Tatchi.”

There was only a second’s pause before, _“Alright. Echo Team?”_

The soldier in front of Leon— who had been watching and listening with blatant interest— went into rigid attention. “Yes sir!”

_“Officer Kennedy and his partner are at your disposal. Please assist them in any way you can, though I assure you Officer Kennedy’s abilities are well beyond adequate. See to it that he and his partner reach their destination as well.”_

“Y-yes sir.” The confusion on the soldier’s face as he looked to Leon with renewed interest wasn’t lost. It probably wasn’t every day a random man could get the director of the BSAA to do him a favor. 

“Thank you, David,” Leon said, giving the soldier a nod, hoping he hadn’t overstepped boundaries because some small part of himself still cared. “I’ll just say I owe you one anyways.”

_“Leon— where is Chris?”_

God, did David not even know? Leon wondered if no one who could’ve helped Chris knew what was going on. Jill was probably in the dark. Claire definitely was. There was no one here who could help Chris. “He’s with Piers. He’s alive.”

_“Leon. Take care of him for us.”_

How was Leon supposed to do that? Simmons was still out there. Leon grit his teeth and realized he couldn’t respond because he couldn’t let himself lie. He knew Chris needed help, he knew Chris needed someone there who could help him practice restraint, but he didn’t know if Piers could do that. Piers had been the one to allow Chris on the field, after all. Watching Chris’s back wasn’t the same as being there for him. Fuck— what if something happened that Piers couldn’t handle?

Why was Leon letting himself get worked up over this? He had to take down Simmons. Now Helena was watching him the same way she had when Leon had fallen to his knees after seeing Chris again. He could do this, dammit. He wasn’t compromised by Chris. 

“Alright,” the soldier said, breaking Leon from his head. The soldier looked back towards the gas, seeing his fellow men already moving, carrying injured away, muzzling up, getting read to move into the chaos once more. “You’re here to help? Good, cause we need it. Let’s move.”

Leon nodded, letting his own resolve show on his face as he followed the soldier, Helena just behind. Helena brushed the back of Leon’s arm and he glanced back at her. “How do you know the director of the BSAA?”

Leon wasn’t sure how to answer that within the next five minutes. “Long story.”

Helena hesitated. Then she nodded. “Alright. Another time, then.”

Like Leon would actually tell anyone about everything that had happened willingly. 

The soldier called out to them again and Leon turned away from Helena, following the man. “Don’t go near the gas,” he warned, leading them through twisting streets and alleyways, the gas itself forming a wall that barred them from certain routes. It was terrifying to think he was this close to becoming infected— again. All of his efforts to stay alive, all of his skills honed to keep his reflexes sharp, and suddenly none of it mattered. Just one stray breath and it was over. Incredible, really. Incredibly insulting.

“We’re taking a detour to the quad-tower,” the soldier said as he stopped at a gate, pushing it open as a crowd of survivors sprinted past just beyond. “We have to— _shit!_ ”

The soldier cut himself off as he broke off into a dead sprint for an open door, Leon seeing the gas cloud billowing straight for them only a second too late. There was another BSAA soldier at the door, waving them desperately inside. The first soldier slammed himself against the wall and all but shoved Helena and Leon inside first, falling in only once they were safely inside. The door was slammed shut and Leon glanced through the room, on alert for infect—

He stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of a floor-to-ceiling glass window, three people with blood running down their faces banging desperately on the glass to be saved, corpses collapsed on the ground behind them. 

Since Raccoon City, Leon had seen a lot of awful things. He’d been forced to bear witness to the fall of the best of humanity. He’d been killed by the hands of a man who had once been his partner and almost his lover. He’d been betrayed and abandoned more times than he could count. He’d been beaten within an inch of his life with no choice but to get back up and try to piece himself back together in the flickering light of a grungy bathroom, forced to retreat to a quiet, cold section of the library just to learn how to make stitches for his own wounds. He’d seen more evil and more horror than he would let himself admit and he rarely let himself remember the moments perfectly, the clarity of the events being enough to kill him. He rarely let these things follow him.

But this— these three people, crying soundlessly, expressions twisted with unending pain, blood and black oozing from every orifice, begging for help that Leon couldn’t give. This was one of those rare things that would haunt Leon forever no matter how much he drank to try and forget.

“You okay?” the soldier that had waved them in asked, his voice shaking. “What’s it like out there? All I can see is a shit storm. And I don’t think that’s the half of it.”

“We’re on our way back to the Quad Tower to check on evacuees,” the first soldier replied to the second. “These two are here with me on Director Trapp’s recommendation.” The second soldier gaped openly at Leon and Helena. “The ride still there?”

“I-it’s out back,” the second soldier stammered. “Be careful, okay?”

The first soldier gave the second an easy grin and clapped his shoulder. “No sweat— I’ll be back before you know it.” He nodded to Leon and Helena. “The vehicle’s out back— looking to hitch a ride?”

“You know it,” Leon said, his voice a little too gravelly to sound entirely like himself. He ran up the stairs and to the door the soldier was opening, glancing back at the one BSAA soldier they’d left down below. Leon hoped he’d be okay.

“It’s just out back,” the soldier said as the door opened and brought them down a hallway. More soldiers were down this hall, Leon jogging around them, taking note of wounded, wondering if he could get Hannigan—

There was shattered glass behind them and the screams of the undead. Leon’s blood ran cold as he whirled around on his heel, seeing the zombies sprinting towards him, the hall filling with the stench of corpses in a matter of seconds. The wounded stood no chance, the others helping the wounded caught in the worst of it too, and Leon felt sick as the screams of the dying overpowered the infected. “Just go, go!” shouted the soldier that had been escorting them, yanking one of the wounded up and shoving another soldier forward. The door at the end of the hall was opened and a hand pushed Leon through it, Helena falling through with him and their escort. But the one who had saved them— who had waved them in to escape the virus— had the infected clawing at his body, pain already dawning in his eyes. “Don’t look back!” the soldier shouted as he pulled the doors shut, teeth sinking into whatever they could reach. “Don’t look back!”

The doors were slammed shut in Leon’s face and Leon realized he had his hand out, reaching, useless.

“Shit,” said their escort. “… Good luck.”

Good luck? _They were already fucking dead._

The soldier clambered down the steps that were behind Leon to the Gambit at the bottom, parked on the streets. Leon watched him, unable to follow, almost dazed. The man had just lost his people to a bloodbath. How was he so unaffected? Leon hated the BSAA with such a fearsome passion for how carelessly it treated its own men. It was like the soldiers had been trained to see death as noble and good. How could these men follow such a horrible organization? Didn’t they knew they were nothing more than cannon fodder?

“Alright!” the soldier shouted as he pulled himself into the truck. “Hang on!” Leon climbed into the front passenger seat as Helena got in the back, sirens blaring in the distance. The alleyway road in front of them was dark and foreboding, Leon still hearing the screams of the soldiers who’d been overrun as an accompaniment to the gunshots ahead. There was white in the air with the gas, floating like soft flakes of snow.

“Where did all the ash come from?” Helena asked as she saw the white flakes too.

“Probably from the missile,” Leon said grimly. “Who knows what burned up in that split second of destruction. Plants, animals. People. All of it gone in seconds.”

“We’re in the middle of a concrete jungle,” Helena said warily. “Can this amount really come from that?”

“Ash comes from fuel undergoing combustion without enough oxygen to completely fuel the fire,” Leon told her mechanically, the print of one of thousands of books he’d read as a kid, hiding away in the public library, putting off going home. “A missile going off with an explosion of that size probably sucked every last bit of oxygen from the surrounding area, not leaving enough for the entire fire. Ash can come from anything— chemicals or organic material are fair game.”

The soldier driving laughed almost nervously, high pitched and coming down hard from adrenaline. “Just who are you people?”

_“HQ to Charlie. Change of plans.”_

Leon pressed the speaker further into his ear so he wouldn’t miss anything, the cab falling silent as they awaited the plan. _“Entry to Tatchi is prohibited. Retreat and wait for further orders.”_

Fuck.

“What?” Their driver exclaimed, moving slowly past a BSAA soldiers that was staggering slowly down the street, as if in a daze. “But Echo Team is still in there. They need us!”

 _“Fallback— that’s an order!”_ Leon stared straight ahead and breathed carefully. They rounded corner, the Gambit lumbering downhill. The driver still hadn’t even made an attempt to turn around. _“We can’t risk losing any more men in there!”_

Comms went silent and their driver cursed. The deeper they went, the more figures Leon saw shambling through the ash and smoke, soft growls penetrating the walls of the Gambit. He scanned at the windows, mentally counting how many infected they passed, realizing with every added count that it was useless. The only thing he could rely on now was possible infected dormancy from lack of stimulation or stealth. He heaved air into his lungs and said, “This is bad.”

“Did Simmons do this?” Helena asked softly.

Leon didn’t see Simmons being stupid enough to do something this catastrophic. It was one thing for the National Security Advisor to bomb a city in the hopes of containing a virus— it was another to bomb a foreign country to infect millions. Simmons had been hiding in plain sight this whole time, a snake in the grass for decades, possibly his entire life. There was no way he’d done something as insane and destructive as this. There would be too many eyes watching.

The driver turned another corner, remaining careful to not let themselves be surrounded by the corpses that were shambling closer at the sound of the engine. Leon watched them with dread in his stomach. The growling and snarling was filling the air as much as the ash now, a constant white noise. He wondered just how many infected there were in the shadows. More than his eye could see, he was sure.

Chatter filled the radio the closer they got to the epicenter of the blast. Soldiers on their last leg, battling desperately against impossible numbers, not enough bullets for something even close to a fighting chance. Leon shut his eyes as one soldier screamed his last breath, Leon’s hand spasming in his lap for a moment, reaching for Rot as if he could somehow help the poor man. The driver shuddered a breath of his own, his hands clenching the steering wheel tightly, likely fighting every bone in his body to not just stop the car and get out and help.

“Whoever did this,” their soldier said, his words low and scratchy, emotion thick. “Whoever did this is gonna pay.”

“They will,” Leon agreed softly. “We won’t rest until they have.”

The soldier let out another curse, the word bitten out between clenched teeth. “I have— I have to go back.”

Leon glanced to the man. “To your team? Or to the men in the building?”

The soldier didn’t look at him. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “But I need to go somewhere. I can’t just stand by and watch my friends die.”

Of course he couldn’t. He was BSAA with military experience, the American accent telling Leon more than enough. _Never leave a man behind_ was the mantra ingrained in all US military branches, the ideal extending from the living to the bodies of the dead. The soldier probably knew the instinct of saving his men more than he knew his own home address. “You can’t save anyone if you’re dead,” was all Leon could tell him, hoping he could inspire some modicum of sanity in the man, some measure of self-preservation so he wouldn’t just fall into waiting mouths. “You need to be alive to help.”

“I was once on an op with Captain Redfield,” the soldier replied, stunning Leon with the name. “Not sure if you know him, but he’s a legend within the BSAA, the kind of guy everyone looks up to and aspires to be. He’s the one who went back for me against all the odds and sanity in the world just to save my sorry ass when I fucked up and fell outta the convoy. It was a while ago, but if you ever do meet the guy, then you’ll know why I can’t let the fear of death hold me back from helping my people.”

Leon couldn’t say anything to that. He knew exactly what the soldier meant. He knew exactly how Chris inspired people. So Leon just nodded and looked ahead again.

The deeper they went, the darker it got. The ash was thick in the air like a heavy fog, but no longer the white that reminded Leon of snow. It was black and heavy, soot and chemical ash, practically poison if a person breathed it in too long. The undead was barely visible, only noticeable when they threw themselves at the vehicle, one even crawling atop the hood to thrash uselessly at the windshield before falling under the tires, rocking the Gambit, skeleton crushed beneath the tires. As the infected died behind them in a mess of snapped limbs, the Gambit finally broke through the worst of the ash and gas, the unnatural light of street lamps gracing Leon’s eyes and making him squint. 

“This is as far as I can take you,” the soldier said, his words reluctant as he stopped the Gambit in front of a blockage in the road, a semi overturned that kept them from advancing. “The tower’s right up ahead. You two keep going.” He put the car in park, staring at the wheel for a second. Then he said, “I’m gonna head back and try to find what’s left of my team.”

Leon had his door open, but he stopped at those words. He looked back to the soldier and wished he could see more of his face. “… What’s your name?”

The soldier looked to him, hesitating. Perhaps he was surprised Leon had asked. “Foster, Sir.”

Leon hated being called sir. “First name, soldier. I’m not a fan of the last name anonymous schtick.”

There was the tiniest crack of a smile before, “Isaac.”

“Isaac,” Leon repeated softly. He reached out and clasped the shoulder of the man, looking into his goggles, hoping he was meeting his eyes. “Isaac. You better be on the other side for me, alright? Cause I’m pretty sure I owe you big time for driving me and my partner in here. Promise me you’ll make it out? So I can return the favor.”

Isaac hesitated again. “I can’t exactly—”

“Captain Redfield and I go back to 1998,” Leon interrupted gently, his expression serious. “All the way back to Raccoon City. I’ve known him for years, Isaac, I’ve known him almost as long as Captain Valentine. So believe me when I tell you that the only reason he fought so hard to never leave a man behind was so people like you would make it back home. He never meant to encourage suicide. He meant for you to make it out alive.”

Isaac was quiet for a moment. “… I’ll do my best, Sir.”

That would have to be enough. “Stay safe, Isaac. Be careful.” Leon slipped out of the Gambit and put the door, patting the hood of the car once as if he could instill some of his cruel luck in the vehicle to get the man out of Lanshiang alive. Helena thanked Isaac as she closed her own door, watching Leon. He ignored her, eyes drawn to the towers high above their heads, the lights still on. He wondered how far out Lanshiang got their power from for everything to still be running despite the ruin the city had met. 

He moved forward, going down on one knee, making a step in his hands so Helena could make the leap up. Helena kept watching him, though, her eyes sharp. “You’ve really known Chris that long?” she asked, not moving.

“Helena, we don’t exactly have a lot of time.”

“Why aren’t you with him, Leon?”

Because Leon couldn’t and he hated it. “You think I like this?” he asks, eyes narrowed, his fingers still interlocked. “You think I want to be away from him? Leaving Sherry behind too? _I don’t have a choice, Helena._ ” Someone needed to stop Simmons. “And neither do you. Get moving.”

That did the trick. Helena huffed and her lips moved, saying something, but Leon couldn’t hear it. Then Helena was running forward, stepping into Leon’s hands and letting him launch her up. She pulled herself atop the semi, then went down on her stomach to reach for Leon, pulling him up next. They stood atop the truck, their eyes drawn to the daunting tower. There was shuffling feet behind them as the Gambit pulled away. “You ready?” he asked Helena, looking ahead to the open area in front of them, toppled cars and fires burning with the towers stretching high overhead into the night sky.

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

Good enough. Leon pulled up Rot and dropped down below, keeping his sights up as they walked the streets that were too empty for comfort. The cliché of the world being too quiet was at the back of his mind, and he hated the way his gut was insisting he get out of the open and behind—

The squeal of failing brakes was the only warning Leon got before the oil tankard came barreling towards them, Leon grabbing Helena by the shirt and flinging them both of out of the way. They skidded across the asphalt, clothes torn by the jagged ground. Leon brought his head up, looking back, seeing the oil slip from the tankard that had crashed into the wall— the oil that was spilling towards one of the many steadily burning fires around them.

“Oh god,” Helena choked out as she clambered to her feet and tried to pull Leon up as well. “We need to—”

The shock wave of the explosion hit them before the heat, launching Leon and Helena through the air, their backs colliding with the glass windshield of a car. For a moment, everything went dark. 

_“Don’t cry.”_

_Chris’s whisper shot a pang through Leon’s heart and he let out a wretched noise, unable to keep from crying now that Chris had noticed and asked something so simple of him that Leon knew he couldn’t manage. “I love you,” Leon barely got out through the tears. “I love you so much— why does it have to be like this?” He wiped uselessly at his eyes. “Why can’t it be a fairytale? Why can’t we run away? Why does it have to be us that suffer?”_

_Against him, Chris shuddered. He was crying too. “I don’t know,” Chris confessed. “I’m sorry.”_

_“Don’t apologize,” Leon almost spat through his tears, rage overcoming heartache. “This isn’t your fault— you hear me?” He sat up and loomed above Chris, glaring sharply. “This isn’t your fault. It’s theirs. If we’d known better, maybe things would have been different, but they’re not, and neither of us are to blame for it. It’s not your fault. Never shoulder the blame of bad people who did bad things. Not you, Chris. You’re too good.”_

_Chris blinked up through the tears that were shining in his eyes like precious gems and Leon couldn’t take it. He dipped down and kissed the man, knowing he would savor every single moment and not linger on the fear and pain of tomorrow._

Leon lifted his head, his body aching like he’d been hit by a fleet of trucks. His vision swam and struggled to focus on the chaos in front of him, flames flickering and eating away at everything around him. The next thing he saw was Rot.

He loved that gun.

It was stupid to project himself and his desires and needs so holistically onto an inanimate object, but Rot had become something like an idol to him, an object of worship, the gun replacing the man for Leon to bind his feelings to. He didn’t have Chris but he had Rot. Since being abandoned, since Spain, since Harvardville, since forever, Rot had been at Leon’s side when Chris couldn’t. 

If Leon ever lost that damn gun—

He reached out, taking the weapon in his grip, the callouses in his palm and fingers molded perfectly to the shape of the Samurai Edge that had seen just as much Hell as Leon, if not more. This gun had survived the first outbreak and Leon hoped it would one day see the very last. If Leon had his way, it _would_ see the last.

Beyond Rot that was now where it belonged in his grip, he saw the undead, silhouettes backlit by the flames. They staggered and shuffled and reached for him, snarls falling past torn, bloody lips. Leon grit his teeth and lifted himself from the ground, a voice in his head shouting for him to get up and move. Every limb in his body protested, but he ignored it. He looked around again—

Helena wasn’t moving.

Leon reached for her, grabbing her shoulder and her side, struggling to lift her with the pain that was warring for his limited awareness. She stirred only a little as he brought her up and into his arms, the quietest little whimper leaving her lips. “C’mon,” Leon whispered haggardly as he slung her arm over his shoulder and stood with effort, rising unsteadily to his feet with Helena against him. “I gotcha.”

He looked at the burning street filled with shambling corpses in front of them and knew that the odds were officially against them on every account. Leon only prayed that the luck he’d finally run out of had gone to Isaac, that the soldier would make it out even if they didn’t. Some quiet part of himself protested the thought of death now that he knew Chris was alive, but he couldn’t stop now. He just— he couldn’t.

One foot in front of the other. Keep moving, Officer Kennedy.

Leon put out that one foot and thought of how Chris would want him to be brave no matter what. An infected reached for him and Leon angled Helena behind him, wishing he had a free hand to reach for Rot. He remembered the pain of being bitten in Raccoon City, the scar of teeth that still lingered on his shoulder, and wished he could tell himself being eaten alive wouldn’t be the worst way to go. The infected stumbled closer and Leon fought to make peace.

Then a bright light shone in his face and Leon flinched back, away from the helicopter that lit them up like a target. But the infected heard the thrum of the propellers and turned from Leon, heading for the noise and bright light first. Leon brought a hand up to shield his eyes and thought he saw someone wearing red. The helicopter swung to the side, the light leaving them, the side hatch open with a woman leaning out the side of it.

“Leon!” Helena gasped, stirring to life in his arms, looking up at the helicopter too. “It’s Ada!”

It—

It was.

Holy fucking shit, _it was Ada shitting Wong._

“Ada!” he gasped too, unable to keep the shock from his voice as something surged through Helena and gave her enough energy to pull away and stand on her own. Leon brought up Rot without a second thought, slamming a bullet into the skull of the infected that had turned from them. “Chris said she was dead!”

The helicopter opened fire, Ada and whoever was piloting for her giving Leon more of the magnanimous aid she always did. The infected were riddled with bullet holes, hitting the asphalt faster than Leon could blink. As Ada drew the attention of the infected, Leon gave her a nod of gratitude, wishing he could get onto a line with her so they could figure some shit out. He caught sight of a way out of the open, darting for the cover of walls in the form of an alleyway. As he pulled Helena from the fires, comms lit up, and he almost thought it would be Ada before—

_“Leon! Leon, do you hear me? Are you alright?”_

Hannigan.

“I’ll live,” he replied, relieved to hear from her as well at any rate as he pushed into a building, warm light nothing like the fires outside, but the long shadows casted hackling his nerves. “But I’ve got a feelings things are about to get worse.”

_“I hate your feelings, Leon.”_

Leon smiled ruefully, feeling the same. His gut feelings really did put a damper on a lot of his successes. He looked back to ensure Helena was behind him as he moved through the connection of small rooms, glancing around with frantic eyes for belligerents. He turned a corner and squinted against neon behind it, wishing he had sunglasses or something with how bright the world was compared to the darkness he was safest in. He ran through the room, ready to move on, but skidded across the wood floor when he caught sight of a body quietly slumped across the floor.

It was a soldier.

Leon couldn’t keeping doing this, couldn’t keep passing by the dead and acting like they didn’t matter. They weren’t even infected, so they were still human in his eyes, and that made it all the worse. Leon knew he had places to be, but he just— he just couldn’t. 

Leon went down on one one in front of the soldier, eyes landing on the globe and staring at it for a few long breaths. He then looked to the soldier’s chest and lamented the lack of a front patch with the surname. Leon hung his head, thinking now of Isaac, of Piers, of Chris. 

Leon had always hated the BSAA with a fearsome passion, had always been disgusted by how the organization treated its men, but Leon had never hated a single soldier that bore the globe. He could never feel anything but a gentle sort of reverence for anyone brave enough to do what Leon did out of their own choice. Leon had been forced into this life but these men had their free will and pursued the monsters to keep the world safe. Leon had so much respect for these men that it hurt on the worst of days. He respected them so much that he wished he could burn the BSAA to the ground for how many good people it had slaughtered in the name of an unattainable peace.

This man was dead because HQ and above just didn’t give a shit how many were lost so long as they could stamp mission success in red ink across a file. This man was dead because training emphasized teams that could take hit after hit after hit for long periods of time before finally being whittled away. This man was dead because the BSAA didn’t give a shit about anyone that signed their life away for the concept of a greater good.

They were all just a necessary sacrifice in the end.

“Leon?”

Helena’s voice dragged Leon from his thoughts. He brought his head up after realizing he’d been leaving it to hang with the weight of his emotion, and stared solemnly into the solider one last time. He wasn’t sure if the body would be recovered— wasn’t sure if Lanshiang would end up as another crater like Tall Oaks, Terragrigia, or Raccoon City— so he would remember the face. He’d remember this man if no one else did. It was the only thing Leon could do.

Leon stood and moved on, not having the stomach to look at Helena, not brave enough to let her see the look on his face. She knew about Chris, she knew Leon had a lot to hide, but letting someone see how fragile he was beneath the stone cold exterior when it came to this awful, terrible, cruel world was too much for him to handle. He slipped under toppled furniture to duck outside, and faced down another BSAA soldier, this one standing and staggering with out stretched arms, what little visible skin there was covered in rot and decay.

Leon slammed in three bullets before he could think twice and he hated himself for being part of the cycle that took more and more good soldiers. The infected dropped to the ground, silent. Leon’s hands were starting to shake.

He strode quickly past the body, Helena hot on his heels as Leon pushed open a door with Mandarin in red letters. “Leon,” Helena tried again as Leon moved through a dark stairwell, his eyes adjusting slowly. “Leon, slow down.”

“Simmons could be trying to make his escape,” Leon told her stiffly. “If he really is still with this ‘family’ that could have Sherry and Jake, he could try to leave.”

“Leon, we should try to meet up with Ada.”

They should, but Leon knew Ada well enough to confidently declare that a lost cause. She’d never cooperate with him, not in a million years. All Leon could do was keep moving. 

The entire building rattled, concrete raining down from above, shaking Leon and nearly throwing him off his feet with how sudden the quake had come. A hand pressed against the center of his back, Helena keeping him standing even as she cried out, the thunks of rubble hitting the floor around them alarmingly loud. One knock on the head and they’d be gone for good. He reached back blindly and grabbed Helena by the wrist, pulling her forward as he fell into a sprint because they would not survive being caught under this building if it suddenly fell. He ran for the next door, praying it would lead them out into the open, shoving it forward and then stumbling to a dead halt.

They were outside— it was not better than being inside.

They were facing a highway, the road congested to a complete standstill, cars bumper to bumper with lights on and half the engines still running, but the world itself void of what should have been hurried voices and cries of fear, people trying to escape. Instead, there was a snarl from an infected that had a body pinned to the top of a car, devouring the other whole. A van was rocked from side to side by infected trying to fight their way inside. These people— evacuees, people who had escaped the hell behind them— were suddenly victims all over again.

Ash fell gently in the air around him and Leon couldn’t even begin to process what he was seeing.

“This is terrible,” Helena whispered.

Leon gripped Rot tight. “What happened, Chris?” He looked down the street and saw the twin sky scrapers beyond, so tall that they punctured the black skies and disappeared into the smoke. “Hannigan,” he said, pressing into comms, staring at the congested street. “Can we make it to the tower this way?”

_“Yes, just keep moving in that direction.”_

Fat load of help that was.

Leon didn’t waste another second, leaping smoothly over the railing and dropping onto the asphalt below. Thanks to Raccoon City, Leon was very used to using dead traffic to his advantage in the midst of a breakout. The only thing that could improve this would be the presence of a Redfield— either Claire or Chris at this point. He shoved that thought out of his mind, telling himself Chris could be close to getting to Sherry and that Claire was better off anywhere but here. Weaving between stalled and stopped cars, narrowly ducking out of the reach of the infected, Leon navigated the long lanes of traffic with deadly efficiency, relying on cover and easy get aways via climbing cars rather than wasting all his ammo. So long as he didn’t—

There was a heavy scrape behind them, like metal dragged across the ground. Leon tore his eyes from the path in front of him and felt dread lace down his spine as he watched hands begin to reach from between gaps, the numbers that were behind them slowly being drawn to the uproar of infected that were being cheated out of a meal by Leon and Helena’s light footwork. 

“We need to move,” Helena said, her voice wavering as she saw the same thing Leon did. There was a slow crescendo in the growls behind them, the undead gaining numbers and fighting to make their way between the narrow gaps of the cars to reach their next meal. Leon looked ahead and saw how far away the towers still were, how much further they had to go. With their rate of progress and the sheer numbers pursuing, he knew they’d be sitting ducks. “Leon, they’re—”

A burst of infected broke through, shoving past the cars with sheer weight alone. Leon snatched Helena by the wrist again, sprinting forward, leaping atop a car and scanning desperately for a way out. There were too many behind them to count and too many ahead. The car they were on rocked and the undead scrambled to reach for them, climbing over one another, screaming and gnashing their teeth. A hand got around Helena’s ankle and she cried out, Leon’s mind becoming a flurry of panic as the adds stacked against them.

And then, just like last time— a helicopter. Five cars down, military, armed, the tail turning and the side open, a soldier inside waving for them desperately. “Come on!” the soldier shouted, and Leon didn’t even think about it. He yanked Helena forward and shoved her into a sprint, following just behind her as they jumped from car top to car top, the feat simple enough compared to running on moving trains as they’d done only an hour ago. The soldier grabbed Helena and pulled her aboard as the infected below reached for the rungs of the craft, lifting into the air. Leon cursed softly and made a desperate jump, grabbing the pole along the bottom and barely hanging on as the helicopter swung into the air and—

And an infected grabbed Leon by the leg, yowling at him as it tore at his body and reached for his belt, pulling itself up. _“Fuck, fuck, fuck,”_ Leon hissed under his breath, using his free leg to kick at the infected’s skull, trying to dislodge it. He lifted himself higher and got his shoulder over the pole, his body acing as he was suspended in the air. The ground below was teeming with infected, swarming together like ants consuming a carcass. Leon lost a bit of his grip, slipping with the weight of the added body holding him tight. He didn’t have long left. Leon grit his teeth, wrenched himself up just a little more, his shoulder screaming in pain, and slammed the heel of his boot into the zombie’s teeth, finally knocking it loose and sending it plummeting to the streets below.

“C’mon!”

Helena pulled Leon into the helicopter, Leon crawling into the bed on his knees, gasping for breath, clutching his shoulder and willing himself to ignore the pain. He wasn’t even close to finished yet. Leon looked up and saw that the soldier who had waved them down was gone. “What—“

The helicopter suddenly dipped, the interior lights going out and a warning bell screeching from the front console. “Oh what the fuck,” Leon whispered to himself, so absolutely done with this before it had even started. The helicopter swayed wildly through the air, Helena shrieking before she caught herself on one of the handles over head, Leon grabbing the back of the pilot’s seat and pulling himself in, giving him the perfect view of their dead pilot.

Another one of the BSAA men— gone.

Leon pulled the man from the pilot seat and dropped into it, sending a silent, desperate apology to the dead man before taking the controls. He pulled back hard, willing the controls to respond, feeling sick when the tailspin only continued. “Dammit!” he cried out, watching the ground below spin closer and closer. “I can’t bring her up!” They were whirling wildly out of control, Leon’s head protesting the G-forces. Helena shouted desperate orders at him, but there was nothing he could do. The city was a constant spin of neon and fire and pitch blackness. He shut his eyes, realizing he no longer had a say on whether he would live or die. He shut his eyes and told himself that Chris would save Sherry.

Then the helicopter smashed through metal and glass and Leon was flung forward, then back, the helicopter itself tipping onto its side and sending Leon and Helena sliding out of the cargo bed. He grabbed the rung of the helicopter at the last second, snatching Helena by the wrist before she could slide past him and hurtle into whatever was beneath them. The craft shuddered and glass rained about them before everything went still, the two of them hung out to dry inside a long shaft that had to be a building, an impossibly high structure that could be nothing else. The helicopter shuddered and Leon looked down at Helena, knowing the only way forward was down. “Brace yourself,” he choked out as the craft hitched and they dropped another few inches. His grip was giving. Leon couldn’t hold on forever. “This is gonna hurt.”

He saw Helena squeeze her eyes shut before the structure gave way and they dropped again, pitching down into darkness that ended in a sudden, unexpected impact, glass splintering like a web around their bodies as they collided with the pane. Leon grunted harshly, tasting blood from biting the inside of his mouth, and rolled onto his side.

Below, beneath the spiderweb of fractured glass, was a throng of infected all reaching up for them like the underworld itself calling their names. They were probably five inches of reinforced glass away from being torn to pieces. Leon was going to have a heart attack before teeth even got a chunk of him at this rate. Especially when he moved carefully onto his back again, moving slow to keep the glass from giving way, and chanced a glance up only to see their helicopter swinging loosely from a large ornamental lantern. He could hear metal surrendering to gravity and the creak of rope pulled past its limit. The helicopter hitched down. 

“Shit.”

Leon scrambled to his knees, Helena moving in perfect unison, the two of them forgoing caution to sprint for the edge of the glass. It was sheer luck that the ceiling wasn’t entirely glass and that they made it to a stable floor just as the helicopter and lantern came crashing down, the infected below crushed with sudden brutality. Leon looked back at the giant hole in front of them that was filled with a traditional Chinese palace lantern the size of a small water tower. He staggered back, genuinely amazed they’d made it out alive. Then he turned to Helena, who was bent over, braced on her knees, gulping down air. “You alright?”

Helena gave him a look that said she was anything but alright. Then she swallowed hard and nodded, pushing herself back up to full height. “Yeah.”

At least they were both becoming decent liars at this rate. Leon gave her a grim nod and turned, seeing polished steel framing what had to be an elevator door. He wondered what the purpose of this entire room had even been and why the hell the architect had bothered with a glass ceiling above the lower level if it wouldn’t have protected anyone from the unfortunate accident they just witnessed with the falling lantern. As he moved towards the door, he realized this entire place was almost like a lobby. There were floor plants and plush sitting benches near the door, a leisure area maybe meant for business men and women. Where were they?

He reached the doors and realized it wasn’t an elevator. Red characters stared him down and he forced down a wave of nerves. Helena joined him in front of the doors. They traded a look, a nod, and then swung their hips, kicking the doors in simultaneously.

The doors were flung open to reveal what had to be—

God fucking dammit, it was an arena. Leon had been through a lot of bullshit in his life, he knew a fucking arena when he saw one. It was big and open, high ceiling with a mostly cleared floor. The door had brought them out to an observatory level that had a walkway framing the entire room— a room that was just a huge circle, bigger than an olympic swimming pool. There were trucks on the ground, military and industrial with a refueling truck to the side, with a towering obelisk in the very center, the main source of light coming from the floor that was—

Holy shit, the floor was just one giant Umbrella logo. Color Leon fucking impressed in the most exasperated way possible. Did Umbrella really never stop stroking itself off even when dead or did people just worship that awful company like it was some sort of saving deity rather than function as normal humans in normal society? Leon almost wished that their copter had dropped into this room if only for the satisfaction of smashing the Umbrella into pieces, even at the cost of Leon being that added touch of red splattered across the floor.

His exasperation was dampened as he caught sight of the dead BSAA soldiers slumped across the floor.

Leon couldn’t help it. He took a step away, a full-body shudder ravaging him, haunted by too many corpses at this rate. He’d seen countless dead over his life, but this was the first time in six months that he’d lived with the knowledge that Chris was out there, alive. Despite having been split apart for over a decade before, being separated was no longer an option for him. Not in a war zone, not like this, not when he knew Chris could die all over again if Leon wasn’t there to keep him safe. Piers might not be enough because god knew the BSAA itself wasn’t. And then there was Isaac and Echo Team, all of the corpses Leon kept forcing himself to walk past, imaging the flags laid across caskets, the tags that would be delivered to grieving friends and families, the dreams lost along with these lives—

“Leon,” Helena called out gently, watching him, _reading_ him. “I’m sure if you turn around now, you’ll make it to Chris.”

She was trying so hard to convince Leon to go after Chris. Leon was losing his will to argue. He shook his head regardless, a wretched expression coming over his face. “I can’t leave you,” he barely got out, eyes on the Umbrella, knowing she wouldn’t be able to do this alone, that _no one_ could do this alone. “I can’t leave you to do this by yourself. You won’t make it out.” She opened her mouth to argue, but Leon beat her to the punch. “You’ve never done this before, Helena.”

She paused, looking away, down at the floor below where the dead lay. “… Maybe not. But once upon a time, you did this too.”

“I had Chris.”

“And you should be with him now.”

Helena was gluing Leon to the spot with her eyes bright and full of determination. “Leon,” she said. “If Deborah were still alive and out there, having her own training or not, I would be fighting through this whole damn city with a toothpick and a water gun if it meant I could see her again.”

Leon couldn’t meet her eyes anymore.

“I’m not going to stop until you see reason.” Helena looked back to the floor below. “Something doesn’t feel right.”

Leon wondered what gave that away— the giant Umbrella logo or the literal corpses.

Helena strode forward, and Leon met the stride she set, the two of them leaping over the railing and landing smoothly on the level below. Leon made a beeline for the soldiers even though he knew they were gone. He pressed his fingers into the pulse point at the neck and hated the stillness he found. The body was already starting to cool. Helena looked down and he shook his head. There was nothing they could—

Leon’s gut had him whipping Rot up and aiming ahead before he even heard the first drip of coagulated, infected blood dropping to the lit floor. A lone figure staggered towards them, a mangled body that looked like a demented scarecrow, not even stitched together, just held in one functioning piece by the sinew beneath the skin. Even what had once been clothes were molding to the flesh, rot overtaking cloth and twisting it all together like a third degree burn. Ragged little rasps of pain left torn, bloody lips.

A sick part of Leon was pleased to see Simmons hurting so viscerally. He liked to think that the man deserved to suffer for everything that he’d done. Leon cut his chin to the side, reveling in the agony on Simmons’ ruined face, and drawled, “Back for more?”

Simmons met Leon’s blue eyes with his won tortured gaze and practically growled at him, baring his teeth.

There was the sudden thrum of blades, a helicopter swinging into the open area from the open ceiling, a spotlight shining down on Simmons’ mangled body. From the hangar, Ada swung out again, surveying the scene below like she knew something they didn’t, like she was gathering data, or even like— like she couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Simmons snarled up at her, his limbs curling into his torso, writhing where he stood. “I know what you did, Ada!” he growled, his voice layered by others, a cacophony of horror. A violently shaking hand reached into the air for her. “You disobeyed me!” He sneered, uglier than ever before. “You took Wesker’s son away!”

The twitching of his limbs reached a peak, steam rising from the cracks, Simmons shuddering as his body underwent another agonizing transformation, just as he’d done on the train. Fine by Leon— suffer what he’d inflicted on the world, know the pain and pay penance. The squelch and crack of bones being pulled from sockets echoed in Leon’s head, the sounds of the human body rearranging. And still, even through the pain, Simmons couldn’t shut the hell up.

“You used the bastard’s blood… to make the virus stronger!”

Of fucking course someone had fucked with the already very-serious-and-deadly virus— there was always a bigger fish.

Simmons threw his head back, screaming in agony as the steam burst from the cracks, his skin molting and moving like worms beneath the surface. The change was coming— Simmons was succumbing to the effects of his own creation, changing into something monstrous and disgusting, tortured for every life he’d taken in Tall Oaks— tortured in return for forcing Leon to put a bullet in the head of the man he’d seen as a father. 

Leon shook his head, disdain curling his upper lip. “Hope you got friends on the other side, cause no one’s gonna miss you here.”

Then Simmons body curled in on itself and burst forward, upwards, outwards, in every fucking direction as the muscle and flesh and bone burgeoned and swelled and turned him into a creature that was bigger than a house and dripping with disease. On two monstrous hind legs like a dinosaur, teeth the size of Leon’s body, the shriek of a demon shaking the ground beneath their feet, Simmons was suddenly a lot more of a problem than Leon had anticipated. 

Leon swallowed hard and took a step back. “Oh boy.” Then he dropped to the side, rolling out of the way as a foot wider than a car slammed down where he’d once been standing, Helena dodging just in time as well. The spotlight above swung and gunfire rained down from on high, whatever turret that was in Ada’s helicopter being put to use. At least they had some scaled firepower for this absolute behemoth. And besides—

Leon had fought _way_ bigger.

Hit the weak points, whittle away at the pulsing masses of flesh, and bring Simmons back down to scale. Same as last time, easy as breathing. Leon nodded to himself and darted out into the open, just behind the obelisk, and opened fire, Rot kicking back reliably in his grip as he closed on eye to keep his shots perfect. The most inflamed sections of flesh were along the spine, the muscle there red and squirming like a freshly opened wound. Bullet after bullet pierced the flesh, Leon keeping light on his feet, Simmons mainly preoccupied by the helicopter that was really tearing into him. With Ada and her pilot’s fine work, and Helena, using her AEK-971 to smatter the large feet, slowing him, keeping him from reaching the copter and doing any damage, Simmons didn’t stand much of a chance. And just like that, the muscle and bone curled, the body itself writhed and twisted, shrinking down like it dissolved, leaving Simmons standing there, pathetic and exposed out in the open.

Leon ran at that asshole and spun him around, slamming Simmons’ face into Leon’s knee. The crunch of a broken nose was more satisfying than music as Leon pinned Simmons to the ground with his weight, smashing his fist into Simmons’ face three times. “Stay the fuck down!” he shouted, rising to his feet to slam the heel of his boot into Simmons’ stomach. The man cried out and the steam exploded, Leon throwing himself back with his arms raised to his face to keep from being scalded. 

He dropped his arms not even moments later, expecting to get out of the way again and repeat the process, when a tail as thick as a car whipped out from the cloud of steam and knocked Leon hard enough to send him careening into the concrete wall. 

On impact, Leon tasted blood. He fucking _hated_ the taste of blood. His pulse slammed in his ears, the pain not even registering yet as he peeled himself up and off the ground. When had he hit the floor? Last he remembered—

_“Leon, move!”_

Ada’s voice in his ear was a split second too late as Leon’s vision returned to him just in time to let him see the endless, swollen, red throat that was about to swallow him whole. Leon gasped and barely got his limbs to move in time for him to grab onto one of the large teeth that enclosed around him like cell bars. He clung to the tooth, stomach roiling with the stench of decay inside Simmons’ maw, holding on for dear life as Simmons realized Leon wasn’t gonna go down easy. There was a snarl from inside that Leon felt in his skull before gravity suddenly stopped existing and Leon was tossed into the air, flying way too high to be safe, way too high to survive, his stomach dropping out beneath him as he began to fall as soon as he’d flown, panic making him stupid, making him shout the name of a man that couldn’t hope to save him—

His limbs slapped out and caught the railing of the upper level before he could even think about how to save himself. Instinct alone had been what kept him from smashing his head open on the floor below. Leon gasped for breath and focus as he wrapped himself around that railing, his head spinning with the knowledge that he had almost fucking died only a few seconds ago. He was shaking violently and he knew he didn’t have time for that. Leon turned himself around and yelped before letting his body drop just in time to dodge Simmons’ nasty teeth snapping for him again. Smattering of gunfire above drew Simmons away, allowing Leon to lift himself back up and get his bearings. He couldn’t drop down safely again, not with the pain throbbing in his body, his only choice—

Leon stopped thinking there, taking the leap because that was all there was. He launched himself off the ledge and onto Simmons’ back, a foot slipping on the wet flesh, Leon catching himself on the hardened bone of the protruding spinal cord. Exhaustion pulled at Leon as he lowered Rot and fired twice into the twitching, exposed weak spot. Instantly, Simmons roared, head thrashing, and steam burst from the body again, Simmons shrinking into just a man once again, Leon hitting the floor and barely catching himself with a roll. 

“You bastard!” Helena cried out, driving the butt of her gun into Simmons’ chest as Leon struggled to recover. “Why won’t you fucking die?!”

Leon’s legs were shaking almost as badly as his hands and his eyes were drawn, insanely, to the dead BSAA soldiers that were still laying on the ground. His thoughts stuttered and the pain flared, a whimper leaving his lips, but not from injury. 

When he was hurt— when he was scared— even as a little kid, hiding from his shitty excuses for parents, Leon had always retreated to safe place when in a bad situation. He hadn’t been the type to hold his ground and _fight_ until he’d gotten into the Police Academy, years of self preservation in the form of fleeing being broken away by a sense of justice and the pursuit of the safety of others at the cost of his own. But even though Leon hadn’t run from a monster since he was seventeen years old, his body, when scared and hurt, yearned to retreat to safety, even if Leon would never allow it. And after Raccoon City— Spain— _everything_ — that safe place wasn’t a building or a room or a feeling. It was a person. It was Chris.

And right now, Leon was hurt and scared and he wanted to hide away in Chris more than anything.

Light feet landed behind him as Helena drove her fist into Simmons’ gums, a delicate hand landing on Leon’s elbow to steady him. Ada Wong strode forward from behind Leon, her keen eyes on him despite the fight they were still in the midst of. “You shouldn’t be here.”

Funny— she’d said that to him back in Tall Oaks too. 

Leon grit his teeth and spat blood to the floor. He reloaded Rot and said, “I can’t let Simmons hurt anyone else.”

Ada didn’t respond at first. She cast her eyes up above, to the pilot that was still circling overhead, and nodded. “We’ll talk when we’re finished.” She pat his arm and stalked forward, graceful and deadly on heels as Simmons burst into steam again, Helena stumbling back. Ada caught her with a lithe arm around Helena’s waist, giving the woman a prim smile that had Helena almost blushing, before raising her arm in the air and firing the grappling hook. It hit the concrete wall up above. “Helena and I will lay down cover fire from above— think you can handle it?”

Leon widened his stance and forced that cowardly part of him that begged for Chris as deep down as he could. “You know it.”

Ada winked at him right before launching into the air, holding Helena tight to her side and bringing her along for the ride up. As Simmons became that hulking, monstrous frame again, Leon shook out his limbs and told himself he could do this. His only option right now was to do this. As Simmons turned to roar at Leon, Leon realized things had suddenly gotten a little more complicated this stage.

There was an eyeball inside of Simmons’ mouth now. Leon had been _trained_ to shoot things in their eyeballs.

“If only Sherry could see you now,” Leon lamented as he got himself moving again, relying on adrenaline to keep his body functioning. Momentum brought him forward, Leon darting between those haunches and beneath Simmons, the monster too big to keep up with someone as light and fast as Leon. 

_“Leon!”_ Helena gasped into coms from above, running the expanse of the ledge to try and get an opening on Simmons’ mouth. The helicopter laid cover fire into Simmons’ flank and the monster roared, whipping its tail through the room again, Leon barely managing to leap over it. _“I can’t get a shot! Not without becoming lunchmeat! What do we do?!”_

 _“Don’t you worry your pretty little head,”_ Ada simpered over the same line, at the opposite end of the room and firing a crossbow bolt into Simmons’ head. Simmons shrieked and slammed his head into the wall, rubble raining down, Ada cleanly dodging. _“Leon’s a quick thinker. Just give him another second to work his magic and you’ll be getting out of here Scott-free.”_

“Was that a fucking pun?” Shitty humor aside, Leon knew Ada was right. They were running out of options that didn’t require one of them playing bait in the most dangerous way. Simmons was a monster now, surviving on animal instincts of eat or be eaten, but that didn’t mean he was barreling around with his vital organs exposed anymore either. The virus could either learn or just straight up adapt in a matter of seconds, neither of the two options boding well for their chances. The only consistency Leon had observed was Simmons’ tendency to scream when in pain, throwing his head back to bellow a protest to his agony. The bite of gunfire was quickly wearing off and firing directly at him made an easy target of the person doing the shooting. They needed something big, something Simmons couldn’t run for to snuff out, something like—

Like the industrial refueling truck just to the left of the BSAA Gambit. 

“Get ready,” Leon ordered into comms before falling into motion. “Stay out of the blast zone.” He ran beneath Simmons again, keeping light on his feet to avoid being crushed as he made for a safe distance, confident that his lifetime of being fucked over by random oil tankards would finally be remedied in being saved by one.

Leon dropped and skidded across the expanse of the room, spinning and aiming his sights back the way he’d came at the refueling tank at the other end, firing two clean shots and sending the tankard up in a ball of light and heat. Simmons howled as he was burned, the eyeball exposed, at the perfect height for Ada and Helena to get their own shots in. All it took was a handful of clean, brutal bullets to the pulsing eyeball, and the monster was collapsing. 

And that was it.

The room shuddered, then settled, the stench worsening but already beginning to be ignorable. Leon approached the body and stared, waiting for the hulking frame to shift, move, stand, sink its teeth into Leon again, but there was nothing. Just silence. Stillness. The end.

“It’s not over.”

Leon looked back at Ada and wished the woman didn’t have a habit of being right. “Okay,” he accepted, voice weary despite how he checked over Rot to make sure she was still kicking before reloading and heading back to where Helena and Ada stood on the lower level. “What’s next?”

“I’m heading to the roof,” Ada told him, her expression unreadable. Leon nodded again, glancing to Helena, needing to be moving again to ignore the aches, but then Ada said, “You’re not coming with us.”

There were— several things wrong with that statement.

“Are you kidding?” Leon asked, brow furrowed and tired of her games. “I’m going with you. Simmons needs to be stopped and this isn’t something you can do alone, Ada.”

“I won’t be alone,” she replied, words lilting as she cut her eyes to Helena. “I’m stealing your partner away. It’s always good for some girl time, don’t you think? I’ll be just fine with her at my side. After all, she’s been learning from the best.”

Helena was definitely blushing this time, but Leon didn’t have the mental capacity to unpack that. “You’re going without me?” Ada nodded, her gaze cool, daring Leon to argue. Good thing Leon wasn’t that same coward from seventeen. “If you really think I’m going to just sit this one out and let you and Helena clean up my mess, then you’ve got another—”

“Chris and Piers are walking into a death sentence,” Ada interrupted, that cool aura being replaced with something urgent. “They’re not gonna make it out— not both of them, at least. There’s something down there in that oil rig that isn’t actually an oil rig that no one could be ready for.” While Leon was stunned into silence, Ada strode towards him and pushed an innocuous black box the size of his palm into his hand. He stared at it, then at her. “You need to go down there with them, Leon. You’ve never been a vengeful person. You’ve never been an angry man. You need to help them before you lose Chris again— for good.”

Leon still couldn’t speak, his thoughts screeching to a halt at the knowledge that he’d just sent Chris to his death. Did that mean—

Was Sherry was gone too?

At Leon’s silence, Ada smiled sadly. “It was strange, you know. Seeing Chris alive again but you not at his side even though I knew you were in the same city. I was in a bit of a situation myself, and yet I couldn’t keep focused seeing him without you. I guess that, for as much as I dislike the brute, you and Chris have become something of a packaged deal.”

“Ada,” Leon rasped, his hands shaking all over again. “Is he— are they really going to die down there?”

“I don’t know what it is, exactly, but I know that even you would have a tough time bringing it down,” Ada replied solemnly. “If you don’t go down there, Leon, I can tell you someone’s not going to come back up.”

Chris, Sherry, Piers, or Jake.

Chris, Sherry, Piers, or Jake.

Leon couldn’t choose. 

Leon could _never_ choose.

And yet—

“We can handle Simmons,” Helena insisted confidently, clutching her gun and looking worlds stronger— and braver— than the woman he’d met back in Tall Oaks. “You need to go to Chris. You never should’ve split up in the first place the second you found out he was alive. I’ve been telling you to hightail it back to him for hours, Leon. You know…” She trailed off, then clenched her jaw, staring him down. “You know I will make sure Simmons pays for what he’s done. But I get the feeling Ada’s right— you never did strike me as someone who cares about revenge. Not like this.”

They were right— Leon never had. 

Even when his parents came crawling back to him for money, giving Leon the perfect opportunity to slander their name. Even when Ada put her gun to his head over and over and over. Even when Krauser strangled him in a disgusting hotel bed and betrayed Leon in favor of power. Even when Buddy tried to put a bullet in him despite not knowing Leon was really on his side. Even with everything, all that he’d been through, Leon had never cared about revenge. He’d always been too tired and too scared, too preoccupied with the thought of failure and losing innocent lives. He didn’t care about revenge. 

Adam had seen that in him. So had Chris. Now Ada and Helena. He wondered who else knew the truth? He wondered who else had been standing back and waiting for him to wake up and finally— _finally_ — reach for the one single thing he’s ever let himself be selfish for. When he would finally reach for Chris. 

God— how had it taken Leon this long to realize that blaming the world for keeping him from Chris was only half the problem? How had it taken Leon this long to understand he’d been holding himself back from Chris as well?

“You’re right,” he said, the words punched from his lungs, exhilarating and terrifying all at once. “You’re right, _fuck_ , you’re right, I need—” He looked frantically between the women, knowing he didn’t have long. “How do I reach them?” he demanded. “How do I save Chris?”

Ada smirked and jabbed her thumb back to the helicopter that was making a tentative landing just behind them. “Your chariot awaits, Cinderella.” She nodded to the box in his hand. “Don’t let go of your glass slipper.”

Leon looked to the box, opening it and frowning at what he saw inside. “Pills?” They were large capsules, about an inch long, one side red and the other white.

“Suppressants for the C-Virus,” Ada said. “I took them off—” She frowned and pursed her lips. It was a strange thing because Leon was pretty sure he’d never seen Ada confused or at a loss before. “Myself? I suppose. I took them off myself.” She shrugged. “They’re yours now. If you get unlucky enough to get the needle, take those. They should help you last forty-eight hours, courtesy of Luis Sera’s timeless research.”

That was a knife to the chest. Leon closed the box and held it tight before slipping it into his vest. “I’m gonna owe that man for the rest of my life.”

Ada smiled— it was a sad little quirk of her lips that said enough. She jerked her head back again to the helicopter. “Don’t waste anymore time— god knows second chances like these are really once in a lifetime.” She rested a hand on Leon’s shoulder as she moved to walk past him towards the tower beyond. Leon thought she was done until he felt breath on his ear and Ada’s whisper of, “I’ll take _good_ care of your partner— I’ve always meant to tell you that I prefer brunettes.”

Then Ada was sauntering away, Helena jogging to keep up, possibly none the wiser. Leon was bewildered, but not surprised, and too caught up in his own shit to think about that. Helena was a big girl, she could take care of herself, and it was about time Leon had a little faith in his partner. Leon ran for the copter and lifted himself into he hangar, seeing a headset being offered to him by the pilot. Leon pulled it on and slid into the front seat, turned to his left to greet the pilot, then literally stuttered over his words when he saw Mike Graham.

“Ey, Agent Kennedy,” the man greeted, his thick Boston accent almost soothing as the helicopter lifted into the air without circumstance. “Missed ya at the wedding. Ashley wouldn’t stop jabbing my ear off about how annoyed she was with the way those fat cats work ya to the bone! I hear we’re on Operation Redfield Rescue, yeah?”

“Mike,” Leon choked out, looking the man up and down, still too shocked to think straight. “You—”

“I know, I know, I’m handsome and haven’t aged a day, you’re old and dangerous without the gray. Why don’t we spare the niceties and get you to your jarhead, yeah?” Mike flashed him a grin that was all teeth, white and in perfect rows. “After all— you still owe me that beer. Why don’t we catch up once this is over? I’ve got to pay Redfield back for how he saved my ass all those years ago. Let’s not keep ‘im waiting.”

Leon looked forward as the helicopter shot through the air towards the inky blackness of the ocean— to Chris and Sherry and Piers and Jake. Four people that deserved to make it out alive more than anyone else. Four people that Leon was determined to see walk away from the burning city and into a brighter tomorrow. Leon nodded and settled back, telling himself he could stomach the frigid cold of the depths below for those he loved. 

“Yeah,” he agreed softly, readying himself for anything, readying himself to see Chris again no matter what it took. “Let’s get them home, Mike.”

Mike grinned and flicked a switch, a sonar panel lighting up between them, showing a blinking dot of something deep below ahead of them in the pitch darkness. “Roger that, Agent. Let’s get ‘em home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for your comments and kudos ;u; I love them kjkfsa I just love them thank you


	10. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bruh idk what to tell you like the line is “it’s been three years since i killed wesker” but re5 came out early 2009 and this game ends in june 2013 like fucking please capcom it’s been 4 years it has been 4 years i can’t keep covering up your holes like this
> 
> also i fudged some time stuff to make other things line up, like how much time is between events, and honestly that’s fine cause capcom did it too like you think it took jake and sherry 20 mins of shitting around through the streets to cover chris’s entire china campaign up until the jet????? i think n o t
> 
> and with this chapter comes the amazing realization that I never have to fuck with chris's POV again uwu

Waves crashed against the rig, the storm rocking the legs of the barge with the fury of mother nature. Chris landed the jet smoothly despite the conditions, releasing the controls from his iron grip, his thoughts still shakily jumbling though flight patterns and protocol and the panic of keeping an eye on how much gas the thing had. If they were going to make it back to dry land, they’d need to find an alternate route. The jet itself was nearly on empty, and Chris didn’t exactly fancy testing the buoyancy capabilities of the craft after the hell it had been through. Flat-ocean storms and giant BOWs weren’t exactly standard resiliency testing scenarios, even for military aircraft. 

The fact that Chris remembered enough of his time in the Air Force— the fact that he remembered how to fly this thing at all— was leaps and bounds for his memory. To say it was all coming back would be too hopeful, but there was definitely something finally filling the cracks. He didn’t know how reliable it was or how steady the memory would return to him. He was just relieved it was happening at all.

Piers jumped from the craft and landed hard on the ground below, his gun already up as he swept the deck. “Is this it?” he shouted over the roar of the storm, his sights trained on what appeared to be the elevator down into the oil rig thousands of feet below them. Chris grimaced, wishing BSAA HQ had been able to give them a better descriptor of the place, but it wasn’t like underwater oil rigs off the coast of Lanshiang were common. They were in Chinese waters, after all, and this place was registered. It had to be the place because it was their only option. 

Chris hurtled over the side of the plane and landed solidly beside Piers, reaching out to clap the man on the shoulder in lieu of giving an answer since he didn’t even know himself. “Let’s just hope we made it in time.” Hope they made it to the right place. “We stalled above open water enough, looked around long enough.” Scanning dark waters in a storm in a high-speed craft was just as difficult as it sounded. “We’ve wasted enough time.”

“You’re right,” Piers gusted, his young face twisted with anxiety. “I just don’t want to be wrong. And I don’t like being in the middle of open water like this.”

Chris knew the feeling. Back on the Queen Zenobia and her twin, the T-Abyss Virus and its disgusting qualities. Back when he’d been at odds with Jill, his best friend. Back when he’d nearly lost what little family he had left. 

Back when he’d fought something bigger than a fucking mountain.

“Chris,” Piers called out, raising his voice over the storm again, standing back by the elevator while Chris walked around as if he was in a dream. “Chris, you with me?”

Chris nodded, staring up at the clouds, the wind and frigid rain whipping at his skin like knives. “Peachy,” he replied, the word itself holding a memory for him, one he couldn’t quite reach. “I’m just— remembering something.”

Piers gave him a skeptical look before summoning the elevator that would presumably take them down to the underwater oil rig. The technology in itself amazed Chris on his better days. Sometimes it felt like the world had jumped into the realm of science fiction while he’d been asleep. His shotty memory had insisted on cassette tapes and VHR and his cellphone had had him gawking for a good five minutes before they’d headed off for Lanshiang. Sometimes his memory loss showed itself in the most surprising of ways.

The doors slid open and Chris and Piers ducked inside together, darkness swathing them both like a shroud. The doors slide shut smoothly and the lift began to move down, though Chris could barely even tell. The ride was like gliding across silk. If it weren’t for the smallest drop in Chris’s stomach to tell him they were descending— and rather quickly— he’d be worried they weren’t moving at all.

There was the clink of metal grinding, Piers checking over his ACR like a good soldier. Chris studied the young man in the dim light for a moment, grasping for some semblance of familiarity. He wondered what Chris Redfield had first felt when he’d seen Piers. He wondered what had made Chris Redfield take Piers for his own. 

Then Piers began to pace, ever energetic, keyed up by adrenaline and the fight, and gave Chris a wry grin. “There’s irony for you.” Chris frowned, turning so he could watch the man reach the far end of the tube before turning and keeping up the frazzled steps to blow off steam as he spoke. “A man who spent his entire life trying to destroy the world, and now his son is the only one who can save it.”

Who—

Oh—

Wesker.

Chris had begun to recall bits and pieces on the flight over here. A towering figure with inhuman eyes and a sharp smirk like a knife. Clad in tight black leather, always looking down on Chris from on high, arrogance defined and molded into a semi-human form. But what was strange for Chris was what else he remembered with the name Albert Wesker.

Small bouts of laughter in a grungy break room, inside jokes whispered through communication lines while driving through deep woods, familiar companionship and trust. Chris didn’t actually remember much of the villain Wesker. He had whispers of seven minutes and a brunette woman going blonde, her eyes distant in a way that hurt, but there wasn’t much else. What he remembered most of Wesker was— Captain Wesker of S.T.A.R.S.. A man Chris had trusted and even admired at times. A man Chris had looked up to.

It broke his heart, in a way, to realize that the world saw Wesker as a scourge and psychopath when all Chris could really remember him as was a patient, sometimes quiet man, who told Chris he was going to get himself killed if he wasn’t more careful.

Piers was waiting for an answer. Chris couldn’t say anything ill of Wesker, so instead, “And here I am coming to rescue that son.” Had Wesker even known he’d had a child? 

“The man who killed his father,” Piers said, still pacing, referring to Chris now. “Like I said— irony.”

“I don’t know,” Chris said carefully, eyes going to the ground. “Maybe it’s fate.” He paused. “I don’t really care, one way or the other. Leon asked it of me. I have a feeling I’ve done a lot of denying him. Figured I might as well make it up to him.”

Piers hesitated at that. “… So you two really are a thing?”

Jesus. “I don’t know,” Chris confessed. “I don’t remember him. Feels like I should, feels like he’s what’s missing, but I can’t bring anything back for the life of me.” He turned away from Piers, feeling uncomfortable exposing this side of himself and having no idea why. Did Piers really not know anything about Leon? Had Chris never told him? It seemed like Leon was important enough for everyone to know. And that photo Chris had woken up with— “I didn’t feel like myself until I saw him. And that’s all I really know.”

“Captain…”

Chris looked to Piers, seeing something in the young man’s eyes. His brow furrowed. “What aren’t you telling me?”

Piers let out a huff, scratching at the back of his head, almost like he was being sheepish. “Agent Kennedy came to me a long time ago and told me that he was gonna ask you on a date. We talked a little bit and I got the feeling that you two had some sort of history, but… I mean, looking at you now, I’m getting the feeling that it’s a lot more complicated than as simple of a word that is. Plus, you’re right.” He grinned shakily. “You were kinda a dick until he showed up.”

“You weren’t exactly making it easy,” Chris replied.

“I know, I know, but it’s still the truth, on both ends.” Piers shook his head, mystified. “It’s almost like— he’s a part of you. Which sounds stupid when I say it out loud, but whatever, I’m from Kansas, I’m a romantic at heart. It’s almost like you weren’t able to be yourself until you saw him. Like who you are is wrapped up so tightly in Agent Kennedy that you needed him to actually unlock the rest of you.”

It made sense in a weird way. Chris smiled tiredly. “You know,” he began. “I’m normally a professional, right? I’m almost positive I am. I give orders, I get the job done, I do it all clean and efficient cause that’s Chris Redfield. But when I saw him— when we were about to leave— I-I— really, _really_ wanted to fuck professionalism and kiss him.”

Piers sucked in a sharp breath. “So it is like that. You two were together.”

“Maybe.” Chris still didn’t have anything for certain save the photo that he was suddenly almost positive featured him and Leon in the throes of passion. “All I know is that I’m not going to lose him ever again.”

Piers studied him. Chris frowned. “What?”

“Nothing,” Piers answered carefully. “Just— seems a little ominous. Saying that. Trying to figure out when you could have lost him before to constitute you saying it won’t happen again.” He grimaced. “You said he’s your cop, right? From Raccoon City.” Piers turned away, shaking his head. “God— you told me that cop was dead. Now look at this mess. Makes me wish I knew what happened so I could give you some answers. And at the same time, makes me happy I don’t know shit so I can’t gives you bad news, cause there’s no way whatever happened between you two to split you up like that was happy.”

Chris didn’t know how to respond to that.

Cold light filled the room as the elevator shaft gave way from metal to glass, allowing the two soldiers inside the perfect view of the vast, deep ocean surrounding them. It went on for miles and miles and miles, as the ocean was wont, but it was a lot greener than Chris had thought it would be. He couldn’t remember ever seeing the ocean before, but he was pretty sure it was supposed to reflect the sky, so blue seemed like the best color, or maybe brown for all the dirt beneath the surface. This was just green. 

And dark.

Bleak.

Empty.

There wasn’t any life twisting amongst the machinery that kept the above-rig and their elevator standing, scaffolding that had likely taken decades to construct. It felt impersonal and broken, like a nightmare Chris could never wake up from. It was like all life in this place had been scared away or just— like it had all died. Chris stared at his reflection in the glass, the darkness behind making it easy to make out his own face. The cold was seeping through his clothes and made him remember something— made him remember the overbearing heat, the ground boiling beneath his feet, the world made of fire, and a man with his features twisted by disease barreling down on him and a woman named Shiva.

“It’s been four years since I killed Wesker,” Chris said, the statement more for himself than Piers. Was that all it had been? Three years? Flashes of memory were still surfacing, Kijuju, the Plaga, the infected mowed down in front of him and his partner. Chris shuddered. “I can’t let this war follow me forever. I couldn’t have been born for violence.”

“Then don’t.”

Chris looked to Piers, surprised by the simplicity of his statement. Piers shrugged and continued. “Agent Kennedy seemed like a good thing, you know that. I’ve never seen you—” Piers cut himself off, eyes flitting about as he searched for the words. “In all the time I’ve worked with you, I’ve never known you to be the kind of guy to let your emotions show on your face. That’s why this has all been so fucking strange for me, you know? All that anger, all that fury, driving you to the edge, uncontrollable. It was honestly terrifying. But then you, you saw Agent Kennedy and it was like everything bad was just washed away. Like you found peace. Not in the fight, not in retirement, not in success, but in a person. Maybe you can’t stop fighting, maybe we’re always going to need you to save our asses, but as long as you have someone like him at your back, keeping you standing, maybe you’ll find things a little bit easier.”

Piers made it sound so simple. Chris was starting to think that it actually might be. “I don’t know if he’d agree,” Chris hedged. “There’s a lot of history there that I can’t even remember.”

“Then you work on yourself until you do,” Piers replied. “Wait until you’re you again and then go for it.”

“He could say no,” Chris argued weakly. “He’s DSO, a federal agent, and probably just as busy as I am.”

“You mispronounced ‘badass’.”

Chris shook his head, the tiniest of smiles tugging at his lips. “He could say no because he has other priorities.”

Piers scoffed. “You had a lot going on, so it’s fine that you didn’t see it then, but the way he got angry at me when he found out you were deployed with memory loss wasn’t the reaction of a guy who’s willing to let you slip between his fingers again. Plus, he was the one telling me he’s gonna ask you out.” Piers grinned at him. “October second, remember? Agent Kennedy saying no isn’t an issue you’re gonna have to worry about.”

Was it really that simple? Chris was so fucking tired. Was it really as easy as having Leon? 

“I— don’t know.”

There was too much that Chris just didn’t know.

Piers nodded. “Sure thing, Captain. But I think it says a lot he trusted you with this assignment and he trusted you with Ada Wong’s life. Even if it doesn’t always work out, I really do think he’s the kind of guy who’s just trying to look out for you and nothing else.”

Did Piers know something Chris didn’t? He wouldn’t put it past the young man. Secrets were frustrating at the best of times. “It doesn’t matter,” Chris said firmly, needing to maintain the professional he had bragged having only moments before. “He’s not here. We need to focus on the mission.” The elevator landed smoothly and Chris’s resolve was solidified. “We will see this through to the end.” He brought his gun up, Piers doing the same, and they readied themselves to shoot down anything in their path.

The doors slid open to reveal Agent Leon Kennedy— that wasn’t right, that wasn’t _right_ — standing there, aiming the Samurai Edge at Chris’s face.

“Shit!” Leon yanked the gun down and staggered back a split second before Chris could react, adrenaline crashing hard on the man’s pale face. “God dammit Chris, I could’ve killed you!”

“Likewise,” Piers said, his voice shaking a little as he took a few steps away as well, grip flexing on his gun. “Agent Kennedy— the hell are you doing down here? And _how?_ ”

Leon took a deep, steadying breath before saying, “A friend,” his eyes on Chris more than anything else. He watched Chris like he could disappear in a blink, and Chris bit down the need to comfort and reassure. “I came after you both when an— informant tipped me off. There’s something else down here. Something a lot bigger than you’re ready for.”

Chris hated the sound of that, his brain jumping hoops to go from the idea that Leon was safe above them to suddenly in danger, down below. “What is it?”

“I don’t know,” Leon replied honestly, softly. “But I wasn’t about to let you face it alone. Not when I was the one to send you both down here.”

Piers glanced to Chris slyly. “Well— we appreciate the backup, legendary Agent Leon Kennedy.”

“Leon S. Kennedy.”

Both pairs of eyes shot to Chris as he spoke without thinking. He didn’t wilt beneath the gazes, knowing he was right. He looked to Leon with a strong gaze of his own and widened his stance on the grating below. He knew it was right. He knew it was the name that made sense. “Right? It’s Leon S. Kennedy. Nothing less.”

Leon looked _floored._ “You got it,” was all he could say, his tone dazed. Then he smiled, a broken little thing, and shook his head, face hidden by his bangs. “Never thought I’d hear you do that again. _Fuck._ ”

“Are you okay?” Chris asked urgently, stepping forward even though he wouldn’t know what to do once he got close. 

“I’m fine,” Leon assured him, looking up so Chris could see the ache in his eyes. “Just— gonna take some getting used to. Having you alive.”

Chris could understand that. Even he had a hard time remembering what he was. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.” Leon turned away from them, down the long hallway in front. “I wasn’t able to get far— got in through the nearby airlock chamber, barely got in a few feet before your ride down made itself known. Not sure where they’re keeping Sherry and Jake, but it’s looking like this place is gonna get us there, one way or the other.”

Piers glanced around, a frown on his face. It was dark and industrial, the walls all metal sheets and piping with fluorescent lights bearing down on them. A faint mist was in the air accompanied by the overpowering scent of salt. “Who the hell has the funding to build something like this?”

“You don’t wanna know,” Leon groused, checking down the Samurai Edge, seemingly out of a nervous habit. “These sorts of organizations have all kinds of funding from the places you’d least expect— including your own government.”

“It’s got Neo-Umbrella written all over it,” Chris said dryly. “Be careful. Knowing them, there’ll be some surprises.”

“You got that right,” Leon huffed. “On me?”

“On you.” Chris fell back a few steps behind Leon as the man began to move, letting him take point. Leon led the three of them further down the hall, the man’s bright eyes scanning ahead. He stopped once they reached a door to their right, the Samurai Edge’s sights still trained in front. Chris pulled off and looked over the control panel for the door. “It’s unlocked. What do you think?”

“I think we’re thousands of feet below the surface and my record for holding my breath is barely over three minutes. We don’t exactly have a lot of wiggle room to be picky.”

“These places don’t exactly make a habit of leaving things unlocked for us, though.”

“Even if it’s a trap, don’t you think we can get out of it?”

Chris paused, mulling that over. “Not exactly keen to walk headfirst into it regardless.”

“Then turn around and let your better feature lead instead.”

Piers snorted laugh and then immediately apologized. Leon raised a brow at the young man, then cast Chris a glance before giving a shrug. “I say we open it. No sense in waiting for the danger to find us first.”

Chris didn’t like the idea of danger finding Leon at all. And wasn’t that a weird thing to feel for the first time in his very-limited memory of his life. It had been one thing to want to protect people, protect his soldiers, but it was a-fucking-nother to be suddenly drowning in the concept of taking Leon somewhere quiet and safe and locking them both away to await the end of the world. Chris didn’t even know _why_ , he just _did._

Leon was still looking at him, the oddest expression on his face. Whereas Piers was used to Chris taking a century just to think things through and work out his own head, Leon was likely disturbed by it. “Chris,” Leon called out gently. “It’ll be fine. We’ve made it out of worse.”

Had they? He couldn’t remember.  
Chris turned to the door, pressing the light and taking a step back as the doors parted and let him see the row of CCTV monitors lining the wall in front of him. He squinted against the bright lighting, holding his hand up to block the screens away so he could scan the corners of the room and look for traps, seeing only an air duct at floor level, about a foot or so high. Once he was sure there was nothing, he waved Piers and Leon in, entering the room first. Piers was looking at him oddly, but Chris ignored it as he strode to the screens and the extensive panel below, keyboards and buttons all flickering for his attention. He didn’t know what he was looking—

“Captain!”

Piers’s call had Chris moving to his side, grimacing as he saw the display that had caught Piers’s attention. Agent Birkin and Jake Muller’s faces were their own separate windows on the corners of the screen with a larger window showing the two of them ensnared in some trap, held back to back, immobile. Chris immediately looked down at the controls, searching for a way to release—

”Sherry!”

Leon’s shout was so panicked, so genuinely fucking afraid that both Chris and Piers flinched, reaching for their guns to fight an imaginary opponent. Leon shoved to the other side of Chris, staring at the screen in abject horror, his eyes flitting about as he studied the display, like he was searching for answers or for wounds. “Chris, get her down,” he ordered, voice cracking. “Get them both down!”

Agent Birkin was DSO— could Leon and Agent Sherry be close? Chris frowned but nodded, setting his gun aside, saying, “Alright,” as he bent over the command console and began to just fuck around, praying he stumbled upon something useful. The console chirped at him as his fingers flew, Leon’s hand straying to grip Chris’s shoulder with bruising strength, the hand itself shaking, as Leon proved to be unable to look away from the screen. Chris refused to let the maddening warmth of Leon’s touch distract him as the console gave a final ping and Chris stepped back in triumph as the display feed sudden fizzed out and went dark. Leon let out a noise of distress, but Chris was quick to reassure. 

“I think I got it,” he promised. “It should—”

Aiding his argument, the words UNLOCKED suddenly flashed across the screen that had once held Sherry and Jake’s faces. Chris’s shoulders sagged in relief to know he’d done it right. And Leon let out this other noise, one that sounded a lot like how Chris felt. He met Leon’s eyes and the unending gratitude that passed to him from Leon’s blue eyes was startling.

Then the entire room went red, an alarm blaring in Chris’s ear, a warning flashing across every single screen in front of them.

“They found us!” Piers cried out.

“Of course they did,” Leon griped, grabbing Chris’s ACR and pushing it into his hands. “Chris, where are they? Sherry and Jake.”

“Some sort of research bay,” Chris said, feeling a little distracted as he noticed the door that had got them in here was suddenly locked. Leon caught on too, moving for the left side of the room, bending lower and checking out the safety of the air duct they’d seen before. “We can get there from the lower levels.”

“I’ll take point,” Leon said, going down on his stomach and crawling through the duct first. Chris fumbled to follow him, not wanting Leon on the other side alone, but a snort from Piers had him slowly for only a moment.

“Don’t want you getting distracted by _his_ best quality,” Piers murmured as he darted past Chris and went in after Leon, crawling second. Piers probably had a point, too, considering how easily distracted Chris suddenly was all over again. With the warning flashing and the lack of a reliable escape route, Chris needed to keep his head on straight and not be distracted by Agent Kennedy’s tight slacks. He went last, awkwardly fumbling through, his armor making him a tad wider than this air duct would want to allow. As he reached the other side, two sets of hands came into view, Leon and Piers pulling Chris through the last couple inches and helping him to his feet.

He looked around the new area and was unhappy to see a huge gap in the floor leading to what looked like an equipment cargo bay on the other side, the only way down being more air ducts that were blocked by a loudly running fan. Chris couldn’t make that jump to check the other side for controls. He needed to give the order. “Piers, I need you to scope out the area. Need you to find a way to stop the blades so we can get into the air duct.”

“On it.”

Chris went down on a knee and threaded his fingers together, Piers running for him and stepping into his hands to be smoothly launched across the gap. Piers hit the deck on the other side, rolling gracefully, coming up with his ACR out and aimed at the open expanse in front of him, alert. He moved out of sight far too quickly on even, steps heavy, and Chris fought to keep his nerves from fraying with his soldier suddenly gone from sight, no matter how much Chris trusted his ability.

Then Leon was standing beside Chris, visibly just as nervous, and shaking his head. “That kid,” he huffed, only his mouth visible from the way his bangs hid his eyes on Chris’s left. “Can’t say I imagined him to come this far when I first saw him.”

Chris’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

Leon grimaced. “You don’t remember, but a long time ago, a place called the Harvardville Airport became the site of a bioterrorism attack. Piers was—”

“He saw you there,” Chris interrupted unapologetically. When Leon glanced to him in surprise, Chris gave him a nod. “He told me about it. Told me that that was the first time he ever experienced a BOW outbreak and that you were the acting agent sent in to bring out survivors.” He paused. “Piers told me that when he saw you, he wanted to be like you.” Leon, instead of being flattered as Chris thought he’d be, winced. Regret stung Chris’s chest. Chris added, gently, “He told me you’d been through hell.”

“We all have,” was all Leon said about that. “Anyways— he’s a good kid. Can’t say I was happy when I saw he was interested in BSAA, but I wasn’t about to let him flounder out on his own. If he was going to get into the worst of it, I wanted him with you. You’re the only person in that entire fucking organization I trusted to look out for him.”

Chris stared at Leon in genuine wonder. “Who the hell are you?”

Leon looked back to him with unending heartache that had Chris wishing he could take back his words. “I hope you remember one day,” he almost whispered in the few inches of space between them. “It would be a lot easier than having you tell you that story a second time.”

_”It’s off.”_

Piers’s voice over comms startled them both away from each other, the two putting distance for breathing room’s sake. Piers still wasn’t in sight, but the fan down below the top of the platform Piers and jumped onto was still, red light flaring from within. _“I’ve got an elevator over here, Captain. Can you find some way to get it moving?”_

Chris tore his eyes from Leon and pressed into comms. “Roger that.”

“Let’s head down the duct and see if we can find that elevator below,” Leon said, tucking his gun into its holster and standing at the ledge, shaking out his shoulders and stretching his neck. “I’ll go first— but if you land on top of me in all that armor, I’m gonna be so mad.”

“Then let me go first,” Chris said, thoughtlessly reaching out and pulling Leon back by his bicep. Leon’s eyes shot down to the physical contact despite the layers still between their skin, and then looked up at Chris with something guarded. Chris swallowed hard but tugged back a little harder. “If you land on me, I’ll at least be a little more prepared for the brunt of it with all this armor, as you said.”

Leon didn’t look away from him. He said, “I’m not losing you again.” Then Leon turned away and jumped, grabbing one of the still blades to swing himself forward and down the shaft of the air duct.

Chris was too stunned to follow— for about three seconds. Then he was jumping as well, following Leon, sliding down the concrete shaft and bracing himself to hit the ground. Light went from emergency-red to the cool blue of this miserable place, and his boots hit the grating, Chris tucking and rolling with the hit. He swung back up onto his feet and nearly ran into Leon with the momentum, both of Leon’s hands coming up to stop Chris with open palms on Chris’s chest. Leon looked him over, eyes flitting about, checking for wounds again, and then gave him a fleeting, tired grin. He cocked his head back, letting Chris look past him to the elevator door just down the hall. 

Leon was so wrapped up in Chris that he apparently hadn’t seen the scuba-gear-clad assailants that were sprinting around the corner, guns up and aimed at them. 

Chris slammed Leon to the ground, laying atop him and spattering gunfire up at the Neo-Umbrella agents, squeezing the trigger with abandon as his mind screamed for him to protect the man beneath him. The two agents went down quickly, the glass of their hoods shattered and bullets tearing through diseased flesh. A second mutation didn’t hit and Chris heaved a sigh of relief before lifting himself up onto his knees, sights still trained ahead, ensuring there was no one else coming.

Beneath him, straddled between his legs, Chris felt Leon shudder. Immediately, his attention was down on the other man again, terrified he’d been hit. But any question of concern he could have asked died the second he saw the telling shimmer to Leon’s eyes as the man looked up at him with reverence. Chris didn’t know what to say again, but only for another split second.

“I can’t imagine how hard it was for you.”

He really, really couldn’t. Chris had known of Leon’s existence for barely half a night now and yet he was realizing all of his best instincts had come from Leon. Maybe Chris’s protective nature was something he’d been born with, maybe shielding another person with his body was part of what made him a good soldier, but Chris had realized only hours ago that Leon was the reason Chris Redfield was still in this miserable fight, in this miserable world. Coupled with Chris’s overwhelming desire to kiss the man at the worst of moments and the photo in his back pocket, there was no way it could make any more sense than it did now, short of Chris actually remembering the man beyond his eyes and the sound of his name on Chris’s lips.

And his name on Leon’s, but that felt too good to think about. Felt better than realizing exactly who was in that photo with him, twisted in the sheets of their shared bed. Wasn’t that just some sort of disaster.

Leon, to his credit, kept that brave smile as he laid splayed beneath Chris. “Couldn’t have been harder than waking up in a DMZ with no memory.”

Was that the kind of person Leon was? The one who would always try to acknowledge Chris’s suffering with his own in the same breath? Chris shook his head, not knowing what to say, and stood, offering Leon a hand. Leon took it and Chris pulled him to his feet. “Gotta say,” Leon added as he clapped Chris’s shoulder with a gloved hand. “Kinda nice being beneath you again, even with stupid armor.”

Chris blushed _scarlet_ and Leon almost laughed, letting out this barked little noise, a tinge of surprise to his eyes. “C’mon,” Leon beckoned, jerking his chin to the elevator. “Let’s get your soldier.”

“R-right.” Chris clambered past him, mentally berating himself for falling victim to an honestly stupid and childish line. He glanced over the elevator controls, saw that it was really just a matter of turning the damn thing on, and fumbled his fingers across the panel. A few lucky clicks and then the lift was whirring to light, doors opening above them, a single set of footsteps echoing overhead. “Okay. It should be heading down here to us— then we all take it down to Agent Birkin and Jake.”

“I’m surprised you still remember how to work these consoles.”

Chris glanced to him with a furrowed brow. “What do you mean?”

Leon was interrupted by the elevator arriving, the doors parting to reveal Piers, who looked between them with obvious relief. “Glad to know you guys are fine without me,” Piers said with an uneasy grin as Leon and Chris joined him in the elevator. Leon shook his head, that brave smile still on his face, reassuring the younger man. “He give you any trouble, Agent?”

“You could say that,” Leon replied smoothly as he pressed a button on the interior of the elevator and the lift rumbled before the doors closed to allow it to descend further. “Was just saying I’m surprised he can still remember how to navigate Umbrella tech and interfacing.”

“Isn’t it Wong or the Chinese government?” Piers asked.

“It’s luck,” Chris replied.

“It’s not,” Leon told them both. “It’s neither of that.” He looked ahead, gaze far away in thought. “Simmons was using Umbrella tech for ages, as I’ve discovered. The Quad tower itself was of Umbrella design right down to the architecture. It’s been staring us right in the face.” He idly kicked one of the walls of the elevator. “Chris Redfield and I know Umbrella tech and interfacing like breathing, but I’m not sure what you remember of it all, Chris. You spent nearly a decade hunting them down and tearing them apart. So did I.”

“The BSAA was formed to help combat Bioterrorism,” Piers thought aloud too. “But before that… ”

“Before that, Chris was in a small cell of close friends, all of them working around the clock to bring Umbrella to justice,” Leon finished, watching Chris. “I was in USSTRATCOM’s Anti-Umbrella Pursuit and Investigation Team until 2011. A lot of people were under the impression I only guarding the President and their immediate family, but I was also pursuing Umbrella and incidents of bioterrorism under Anti-Virus Weapon Protocol, number 7600.” Piers made a face at all the long titles and acronyms and Leon shook his head, still wearing that smile. “It’s all just a bunch of bullshit to tell you one thing— I studied Umbrella intensively, inside and out. I know how their technology works, I know how they organized their information, I know how they made all their shit run. And so does Chris.” 

Leon’s eyes were back on Chris, the blue making it hard to think. “I’m just surprised,” Leon finished in a low murmur. “And maybe even a little sad. To know that even with everything you don’t remember, it’s the things that kept you in hell that will never leave you.”

Chris should probably get used to Leon S. Kennedy rendering him speechless.

The doors opened, revealing a large room with a center table embedded in the floor displaying holographic information and infected Neo-Umbrella agents just across, waiting for them. Leon reacted before Chris could even blink, shoving him into a corner and yanking Piers behind cover of the other as gunfire smacked the wall that had once been just behind them. 

“And I thought the welcome DSO got was friendly!” Leon quipped from across the crossfire, a sharp grin on his face that said he was about to do something stupid. Then Leon was daringly ducking out from behind cover and firing up into the air, shattering the overhead lighting and swathing them in darkness. As the Neo-Umbrella agents cried out, their hud lights not automatic, Leon switched a flashlight on and shot down the confused and blinded infected, Chris coming up behind him and laying oppressive fire on anything that moved longer than it should after being riddled with holes. No secondary mutations emerged with how quickly the room was dealt with as emergency lighting flickered and the room was bathed in red.

“Woah.”

Chris and Leon both looked back at Piers at the sound of his amazement, concern on both their faces. Piers just shook his head, grinning between them. “No wonder Captain Valentine made such a big deal of you two working together.”

Leon let out this sound that was almost embarrassed. “Let’s move,” Chris ordered, because he was only half sure he knew who this Captain Valentine was. He didn’t know if it was Jill or Sheva. Leon nodded and did as ordered, pressing on into the next room, moving swiftly down a hallway that was surrounding by metal and pipework. His footsteps were almost inaudible, especially compared to the two lumbering soldiers just behind him. Piers was jogging to keep up with Chris just so Chris could see the shit eating grin on the man’s face, those young eyes glinting with mischief. Chris would’ve told him to can it if Piers hadn’t failed to actually say a word. Then Leon as turning a corner and stopping short, eyes fixed on something in front of him. Chris and Piers came up on his sides and stopped too.

It was a tube— Chris could say that much. It glowed a cold, but gentle blue and Chris had no idea what it was for. There were strange coffin-like beds surrounding it but with nothing inside. There was only a single door on the other side of the circular room with the pillar in the center like an an alter piece. He glanced to Leon, wondering if he knew what they were looking at, but he looked just as confused. 

“Well this is special,” Leon said after a moment. Piers took that as a go ahead, moving into the room and crossing for the door. He pulled a lever as Leon and Chris walked around the pillar, both of them staring up at the faint blue light. Chris wondered if he should be remembering something. Leon was looking like he didn’t have the faintest.

Then a voice filtered through— first, mechanical, a woman telling them they were connecting to the research portion of the facility via an airlock system. Then another woman’s voice, fluid and graceful and human— Ada Wong.

Leon flinched, eyes darting to the ceiling as Ada drawled, _“Hello, stranger.”_

“Ada?!” Chris gasped, pointing his gun overhead where Ada Wong normally was. Leon took a step back, eyes searching the darkness. 

“Ada,” Leon called out. “The hell are you doing down here? Helena—”

_”Yep. It’s me. Or should I say, it was me. Consider this my little parting gift to you.”_

A recording— they were listening to a recording and it didn’t make Chris feel any fucking better. He met Leon’s eyes from across the room as the ground began to tremble while machinery worked beneath, that airlock probably doing its job. Piers moved to Chris’s side, visibly shaken to hear the voice of the dead woman. 

_“If you’ve made it this far, I’m assuming you’re BSAA. Not that it matters.”_

Leon made another noise of confusion, loud enough for Chris to hear across the room and above the noise. “This doesn’t sound like Ada.”

“Are you kidding?” Piers glared at the agent. “She’s still toying with us even when she’s a corpse!”

“She doesn’t talk like this, I’m telling you!”

_“You still won’t stop my plan. No one can. One missile and this world will be transformed into a new ‘Eden’. For my last and greatest creation. He will thrive in the ashes of the burning cities, conquering all that remains after the fall. He will reign as king of the new era!”_

The recording ended with an abrupt click and Piers sneered. “Something tells me this new creation isn’t a pillow pet.”

“Chris,” Leon called out sharply, distinctly pale in the dim light. “That’s not Ada.”

Chris didn’t know what to believe about Ada Wong at this point. He grimaced and tore his gaze from Leon’s, looking to Piers. “Can you get through to HQ?”

“Nope,” Piers replied, matching Chris’s grimace. “Not unless we get topside.”

Leon had said there was something down here he’d thought they couldn’t handle— Chris was suddenly worried to realize that Leon could be right. “So we’re on our own.” He cursed as the airlock blared and the door swung up, giving them access to the research facility. “Alright. Let’s get Jake and Sherry the hell outta here.”

“Roger that,” Piers said. 

“Copy,” Leon said, his voice hoarse. 

Chris gave him another sidelong look just to check and then asked, “On me, Leon?”

Leon straightened and scoffed, confidence returning to his stature as he cocked his gun to reload. “As if you ever have to ask— on you, Chris.” Chris couldn’t keep the sharp grin from his face, stupidly giddy to hear the words he’d longed for so easily from those lips. Even down here, beneath the dark ocean and on a rescue-mission with no way to actually escape, Chris was actually— finally—feeling pretty damn good.

The airlock opened and Leon went through first, Piers giving Chris another childish smirk before they followed him. They moved through a short tunnel, reinforced windows somehow giving them a view out into the endless ocean. Chris shuddered, imaging how cold it must be, how horrible it would feel to die out there, alone and helpless. He didn’t know what would be worse— impossibly drowning or just being crushed into nothing by the pressure.

“Once we’re in the research facility, we should be able to locate the holding areas,” Leon said, his voice a little tight. “Sherry probably figured out by now that she’s got someone on the inside coming for her, so she won’t try to leave the area.” He reached the end of the tunnel first, turning into what appeared to be huge, empty room in front of them, another circular area. “If we can find her and Jake in time, we might even be able to take the elevator you both had back—”

Leon stopped in his tracks, eyes huge, not moving an inch, not breathing. As Chris and Piers jogged to catch up, both their hands went reflexively to their weapons before the biggest, most relieved smile Chris had ever seen spit Leon’s lips as the agent shouted, _“Sherry!”_

“Dad!”

Chris and Piers rounded the corner after Leon just in time to watch Leon and Agent Birkin slam into one another, arms wrapping around the other, clinging like they were scared to let go. Chris watched Leon bury his nose in Sherry’s blond hair, his eyes screwed shut as he held Sherry as close to himself as physically possible. Behind them, Jake was grinning a little too, standing just close enough to Sherry— and Leon— to be protective, running a hand through his buzzed hair. 

“Oh,” Piers said softly beside Chris. “That’s who— oh shit.”

“What?” Chris asked Piers with a frown, unsure of what he was actually seeing. Had Sherry called Leon “dad”?

“Back in the city, you’d asked me if we’d told someone that Sherry had been missing,” Piers replied like it was suddenly obvious. “I didn’t know Sherry and Agent Kennedy were family. Shit, no wonder Agent Kennedy is mad at me. Didn’t tell him about his missing boyfriend or daughter.”

Chris was baffled by both those titles and the truth they had to hold. Then Jake looked past the touching reunion and caught sight of them. It was like a wall had slammed itself over him, that smile becoming an aloof smirk that edged on manic. “Didn’t think we’d meet you two down here.”

Chris was even more confused. “You thought you’d meet Leon?”

“Chris!”

Sherry’s cry had Chris looking to the young woman, oddly touched by the sight of her still holding onto her father but giving him her attention. Then, “You found him too!” 

Chris had found who? Leon? His puzzlement must have showed because Leon grimaced and shook his head, looking down to Sherry to say, “He’s compromised. Doesn’t remember a lot.” Chris watched Leon brush some hair from Sherry’s face, glancing her over for injuries. Did he do that for everyone or just people he cared about? “I’ll fill you in later— are you hurt?” Then Leon looked to Jake, that same worry on his face. “Either of you?”

“I’m fine, Mr. Birkin,” Jake drawled. That _definitely_ wasn’t right. “You bring those jarheads with you for a reason?”

Piers practically _growled_ while Leon sighed. “Not jarheads— they came down here to help you. Same as I did.”

“Right,” Jake replied, audibly skeptical. “And I’m to think they did this out of the goodness of their heart? Or is it something else?” He moved around Leon and Sherry to practically saunter towards Chris and Piers, his arms crossed over his shirt, bleeding arrogance that Chris was starting to wonder at the validity of. “You two wanted to play hero again? Or were you just as eager for a piece of this as these scientists?”

Piers flinched, a faint tint to his cheeks. _“Why would I ever want—”_

“The C-Virus,” Chris interrupted, needing to keep Piers from shoving his foot in his mouth. God above, Piers was really bad at this whole type of thing, wasn’t he? “Your blood is the key to the vaccine. I’d be lying if I said that wasn’t a point of interest for us. But—” He lowered his gun completely, standing tall for Jake, showing the kid that Chris wasn’t scared of him or what he was. “It’s not the only reason. Leon had asked it of us and we were more than willing.” He looked over Jake and realized exactly what had been haunting him. “… When I first saw you, tonight in China, I found myself calling you Albert. The name of your father.”

For a second, everyone went dead silent. Sherry pulled away from her father, moving towards Jake like she was worried, trying to distract as she began, “So Leon, how did you—”

“Wait, hold on,” Jake cut off as he suddenly shoved into Chris’s personal space, eyes alight with fire. Chris saw a lot of Wesker in him now that he knew how to look and realize, but he saw a lot that wasn’t Wesker either. Explosive anger and passion wasn’t Wesker’s thing— that man had preferred to smirk and simper and wait and taunt. Jake was like a firework while Wesker was like a sparkler. Both able to burn down a forest, but one of them more capable of masquerading as friendly for kids. And the way Jake was crowding close and staring into Chris like he was about to snap his fangs was definitely not friendly for kids. “So you knew him?”

“Jake, this isn’t the time—”

“You did, didn’t you?” Jake demanded, interrupting Sherry again, getting nearly nose-to-nose with Chris, that fire raging in his eyes, uncontrollable and young. “You knew the old man.”

Chris took in a breath. “Yeah,” he affirmed. “I did.” Jake kept staring, kept burning, kept moving from foot to foot like he needed to expend the energy before he lost it. “I knew him, Jake.” Go for gold. “And I’m the one that killed him.”

Jake whipping his gun out to point at Chris’s head wasn’t a surprise, neither was Piers crying out in shock and pointing his ACR at Jake— Leon immediately stepping in between Chris and the barrel of said gun was downright shocking. Suddenly whatever fear Chris should have felt from having a gun pointed at him existed only because the gun was now on Leon, and Leon was trying to save him. Chris’s hands went to the back of Leon’s vest, intending to shove him away, to save him too, but Leon remained steady and put his hand up, measuring distance between Jake and them, not touching but close enough.

“Jake, if you even knew half of who that man had been, you wouldn’t even be considering defending him,” Leon said, his voice firm and careful despite the fervor that was dancing between them. “Wesker was sick— sick to the core— and I know you would never condone that man or what he’s done.”

“Stop talking like you know me,” Jake choked out.

“I don’t know you,” Leon replied like it was simple. “But I know what it’s like to grow up with monsters around every corner. I know what it’s like to always be ready for a knife in the back. I know what that kind of shit does to a person. And I can promise you, from the bottom of my fucking heart, Wesker would have done nothing but hurt you just as much as this shitty world already has.”

When he paused for breath, Chris saw something flit through Jake’s eyes. Chris didn’t even know what Leon was talking about, what terrible world Jake and Leon both apparently knew so well, but it was like a switch had been flicked in the feral corner of Jake’s mind, like a tranquilizer. The fire began to die even as Jake visibly struggled to stay angry. “Your precious soldier killed the only family I have left,” Jake spat, his words hoarse. “Forgive me if I’m not so forgiving anymore.”

“Family doesn’t mean shit,” Leon plowed on, taking a step forward, his hand coming to barely brush Jake’s chest. The young man jerked at the contact, and finally tore his fire from Chris to Leon. “Jake, family doesn’t mean a god damn thing. Not by blood. Not by name. Just because someone’s family doesn’t mean you owe them a god damn thing— not a second of your time, not an ounce of your loyalty, and not even a moment of thought. Wesker never even bothered to find you. He never meant to meet you. As far as we know, Wesker didn’t give a shit you even existed.”

Jake tore his eyes from Leon, now just staring at the ground. 

“I’m sorry,” Leon whispered. The hand that had grazed Jake finally rested, gloved fingers splayed across where his heart would be. “I’m sorry, Jake. Wesker’s not the man you deserved. The world really and truly is better off with him dead.” He pauses again, wetting his lips, and then just barely twisted his fingers in the front of Jake’s shirt.

“So put the gun down,” he begged, his words wavering, the first sign of a lack of control, the first sign of fear since stepping in front of a loaded gun. “Chris would never hurt you, Jake, I swear that to you. He’d never hurt someone like us. He did the world a favor and he did you a favor. I get that you’re mad and probably really revving to kill something right now, but don’t let it be the man who had to save us from that demented bastard.”

Jake ground his teeth, but he, miraculously, lowered the gun. That was probably just as surprising as Leon getting between them. “I’m only doing this cause I wouldn’t wanna be the guy to shoot the hero in the chest.” His words were raw and his eyes still bore a wild edge. Chris wished he could say he felt better. “And— I really don’t like the mutt having his sights on me. He’s looking a little too trigger happy, even for me.”

“Then don’t point a fucking gun at my captain!” Piers shouted, his face pale, yanking his gun down and whirling away like he needed to escape before he lost it. “Fuck— _fuck!_ ”

Jake grinned, sharp and ragged in its own way. He was looking a little white at the edges himself. “What’s wrong, pup? Can’t stomach putting a bullet in me?”

“Shut the hell up,” Piers choked out, agony clear in his eyes. “Just shut your fucking mouth for once, Jake, fucking Christ, can’t you shut up for one second—!”

The ground rattled between their feet and Chris reached out to steady Leon, looking around at the walls that lead to a ceiling that was practically miles away, concrete rubble shuddering and dropping around them. Chris wasn’t even sure why it was happening. Was the facility crumbling in on itself out of wear and tear or was it something else? Ada had talked big in the recording about releasing something. Had there been a countdown this entire time that they’d missed?

Piers shook himself, stepping away from Jake like he was in pain, and looked to Chris with urgency. “We gotta go!”

“You guys got any ideas how to keep the ocean from crashing this party?” Jake asked, his eyes on Leon more than anyone else. But Leon wasn’t looking at him— he was looking up. And so was Sherry, the two blonds with their gazes on overhead, to sets of blue eyes wide in shock. So Chris looked up and felt like he’d been slapped.

“Oh shit,” Piers whispered as he and Jake finally caught on.

“That’s gotta be the biggest hornet’s nest I’ve ever wanted to kick,” Jake said.

It looked exactly like a hornet’s nest, just a hundred times bigger and dripping with disease. Cables were connected to it, feeding whatever was inside. It swayed with the crumbling facility.

“I-I think there’s some sort of lift!” Sherry cried out, suddenly darting past Chris and Jake and grabbing her father’s hand, trying to pull him along. “I think there’s a second one too, we gotta get out of here!”

Leon wasn’t letting her move him. His eyes had dropped from the cocoon overhead— a very familiar cocoon, the C-Virus from the shell to the core, Ada’s monster was in there and it was too fucking big— to a computer display in front of them. Chris took in the animation of the world itself being consumed by a spreading circle of deep red pixels. Words flashed across the bottom.

_HAOS Release Simulation._

_Infection Rate: 20%…_

_60%…_

_Infection Rate: 100%_

Overhead, the cocoon began to twitch— a sign of life.

“What the hell is this?” Chris asked.

“The end of the world,” Leon replied, harrowed.

Piers came and stood behind them even as Sherry desperately urged for them to escape. Piers gripped his gun tight and looked between them. “Unless we stop it. We just gotta get outta here and warn HQ.”

Chris steadied his jaw and Leon cut his eyes away. They both had a feeling— a gut instinct telling them that this wasn’t going to be easy. They weren’t going to be able to adhere to some sort of plan. These things— these apocalypse scenarios— they never unfolded the way Chris and Leon wanted them to. 

Leon suddenly couldn’t look Sherry in the eye. But he looked at Chris and Chris knew they were on the same page. 

They weren’t leaving this place until whatever was in that cocoon was ash. 

“Leon, the lifts—”

“Shit—”

“Dammit, let’s move!”

Piers had the clearest head, grabbing Sherry and pulling her to the lift at the far end of the huge hole in the ground that Chris realized was where the BOW was going to be dropped into the sea to end the world. Jake followed Sherry, followed Piers, not even looking back as Piers got them on the platform. Leon nodded to Chris and ran for the other, Chris going with him and the two steadying themselves as the lift lurched to life and began to rise, bringing them close to where the cocoon was hanging. Over the comms, Chris could hear the other three shouting, Jake goading Piers into spitting back, Sherry just pleading with them to stop arguing when it didn’t matter. Despite everything going on— how the whole place was trembling and they were facing down the end of the world— Leon laughed. It was high and reedy and almost sounded sick, but it was still a laugh.

“It’s like Jake can’t wait to have Piers’s attention on him,” Leon said, giving Chris a grin. Chris loved his grin. “God forbid Piers look anywhere else but him, right?”

It was strange to be ignoring their impending doom. Chris kinda liked it. “Pretty sure Piers is gonna be the one to have to make a move if anything ever happens,” he weighed in. “Jake seems a little too skittish to actually reach for something that could be more than temporary.”

“They’ll be fine,” Leon said. “They’ll figure it out.”

That was assuming they made it out at all. Chris shuddered a breath and looked up at the cocoon. “Piers is probably gonna take him to a bar for their first date. He’s a sucker for a cheap steak.”

Leon laughed again, shaking his head, eyes wild to combat the levity. “This is insane.”

“What is?” Chris asked. “The giant cocoon or talking about my soldier and Wesker’s son dating?”

“The dating,” Leon said. “We see shit like this all the time.” He cut his chin up to the cocoon for emphasis. “But them dating? Them actually making it out of here? Them actually being happy and being normal? That doesn’t happen. That doesn’t exist. Not in this life.”

Chris sucked in a breath. “Is that what happened to us?” When Leon’s eyes snapped to him, he dared to continue. “We wanted something good but it was impossible and out of reach. Is that why I— why I feel this way?”

Leon’s gaze softened, but it wasn’t pity— it was heartache. “I think so,” he admitted. “I think you’d be having a much easier time finding your footing and finding _yourself_ if we had just— if _I_ had just—” He cut himself off and shook his head. “It doesn’t matter, Chris. It doesn’t matter what happened or how I failed you and how I failed us. What matters is that you’re alive and I’m never letting you go again.”

Chris tore their gazes apart, suddenly unable to cope with the hammering heartbeat in his chest. He looked up above and took in the tubes that hung from the ceiling and penetrated the cocoon, likely pumping all sorts of nutrients into the horrendous womb. Chris fought the urge to waste bullets and fire at the casing, knowing it would do no good but still yearning for the rush of adrenaline.

Then, as the lift reached the top, the cocoon shuddered, the crown giving way to pulsing flesh beneath. Beside him, Leon took a step closer to Chris, his own gun yanking up into position, so Chris did the same. If Leon was going to take the shot, then so would he. There was the blare of an alarm as their platform lurched when the other lift snapped into place beside theirs and the return of Piers to Chris’s side was better than the adrenaline rush of smacking bullets into this monster. Chris glanced to Piers— glanced him over, looking for injuries, like Leon did— and gave him a nod.

Piers didn’t return it. Piers looked almost sick. His eyes would barely rest on Chris before they’d be drawn to the cocoon, young horror overcoming his features.

“Dad, we gotta go,” Sherry pleaded as she ran to her father’s side, staring at the heaving mass that was twitching within the broken shell. “This whole place— it’s just like back then, please, let’s just go!”

The cocoon lurched, the crack spreading like a fracture in glass, something pushing from inside, yearning to be born. There was one more beat of silence, one more moment of the unknown, before whatever was inside gave a final shove and a monster burgeoned from the tight hold of the cocoon.

It had the head and shoulders of a person— it looked like a fucking _person._ The face was a skull, sockets for eyes, flesh hanging onto where lips would have been, almost like a layer of translucent skin was covering a human skeleton. Then the shoulders led into tentacles, huge tubes of meat and flesh that slapped aimlessly like a newborn learning about its limbs with splayed fingers at the ends. The thing was bigger than a suburban home and a pale white in some places, see-through in others like deep sea aquatic creatures looked. The eye-less sockets turned to them and took in their first sign of life— Chris’s stomach turned over, wondering if first impressions mattered with a monster. His answer was soon given to him as one of the limbs arched through the air— _towards them._

“Look out!” Chris bellowed, grabbing Piers by the shoulder and yanking him to the other platform on the left as Leon shoved Sherry away to the exit platform to the right, momentum bringing him to land hard on his shoulder next to where Chris and Piers had hit the deck. The tentacle made contact and Chris’s teeth shook in his skull, the sheer weight of that limb more than enough to crush a man like a bug as the platform they’d all been standing on collapsed. The creature howled, a piercing sort of roar that echoed in his bones. He looked up from where he laid and watched the thing flail and dislodge itself from its bindings, cocoon breaking away from the hooks, the thing dropping to the depths below. Its hollow scream followed them from its drop. They all scrambled to their feet, disbelief clinging to their expressions as the realization of what exactly was happening dawned on them all.

Chris looked down the sickening drop and saw the creature had caught itself on a ledge beneath them. They weren’t done here.

That— and they were officially separated again. Jake and Sherry stood on the exit platform, red lights spinning yet somehow exuding safety, while Leon, Piers, and Chris were stuck on one of the lifts, the gaps between the platforms far too wide for them to even consider jumping. Part of Chris was instinctively overjoyed Leon was with him— the other part realized that father and daughter had been split apart again.

“Dad!” Sherry cried out, running for the edge of her platform like she was about to do something stupid out of sheer desperation. Jake caught her by the elbow in time, pulling her back, while Leon just stood there, watching Sherry with agony. “Dad, no, we have to get out! All of us have to get out!”

“Jake, take Sherry and get out of here!” Leon ordered, his eyes down below on the monster as well. He knew just as well as Chris what they had to do. “This thing can’t reach the open water. Life will end as we know it if it does.” Chris watched Leon’s nimble fingers pull back the slide on the Samurai Edge, a grim expression on the man’s sculpted face. “We’re not done here.”

“We got this,” Piers promised the other two as he darted to the edge, heading for the controls that would get them back down to the monster— to HAOS. “Captain, I think there’s a way to reach it. If we’re fast enough, we can beat the release procedure and kill it before the lock opens and lets this thing out.”

“Copy that,” Chris replied. “Get us down there, Piers.”

“Leon, no!”

Sherry’s scream tore through all of their senses, the sound far too arresting and pained to be ignored. Leon’s gaze was yanked to his daughter again and Chris stood beside the man, resting a hand on Leon’s shoulder because he couldn’t do anything else. Leon was warm and alive beneath his palm and Chris felt the shudder in his body as they realized Sherry had tears in her eyes.

“I looked everywhere for you!” she almost sobbed, fighting Jake’s grip on her arm. “You never gave up on me— I never gave up on you! Please, dad, just come home!”

An odd moment of solidarity passed between Jake and Chris as they both realized there was _a lot_ more to the complexity of the relationship between Leon and Sherry than they knew. Leon took a step back, away from his daughter, and shook his head. “You were never supposed to find me,” he rasped, barely able to be heard across the distance between. “You were never supposed to end back up in places like this. Everything I did was so you wouldn’t have to see this hell again.”

“I don’t care!” Sherry argued even as HAOS roared beneath them. “I just want you back!”

Leon cursed softly under his breath and Chris tightened his hand on the man’s shoulder. “… I’ll come back, Sherry,” Leon eventually got out, a promise in his endlessly blue eyes. “I just have to take care of this. I have to see this through.”

Sherry’s expression twisted with more tortured heartache, but then she suddenly smiled like she wasn’t surprised at all. “I know,” she said. “God, I know you do, Leon.” She shook her head, finally no longer fighting Jake’s grip. “You better come back, dad— I still can’t dance for shit!”

Leon choked on a broken bark of laughter, disbelief written across his face. “Then I guess I’ll have to fix that!” He looked to Jake, trust gleaming in his eyes. “Take care of her— take care of each other.”

Jake gave a twisted little grin and a cut of his chin that Chris had seen Leon do countless times, the young man replying, “You got it, Hero— she’s still got a job to do,” before pulling Sherry away. There was one last glimpse of the two, one last time that Leon could see his daughter, and then they were gone, heading for the way out. Chris prayed that they would make it out. The world depended on Jake and his blood.

“They’ll be fine,” Chris assured Leon, still unable to pull his hand away, unable to rid himself of the warmth Leon exuded into Chris’s veins. “They’ve made it this far— they’ll make it out together.”

Leon was quiet for a moment. Piers let out a small noise of distress behind them as the lift began to tremble. Then Leon turned to face Chris, wearing a brave face, and said, “So will we.”

“It’s no use!” Piers told them, yanking away from the console and looking to them with fear. “This shit’s broken!”

“Then we go up,” Chris said, glancing over the edge again and grimacing at the sight of the huge creature climbing its way up to them. “Piers, get moving! Leon, stay with him! I’ll be right behind you both!”

“On you,” Leon breathed before darting away, speaking quickly to Piers, pushing the young man to the ladder behind them. Piers started the climb and Leon followed, not even glancing back because he trusted Chris. The warm feeling that accompanied the realization quickly died as Chris began to climb only to be assaulted with a moldy, harrowing stench, that echoing roar sounding a lot closer. He paused for only a moment to look down—

And looked right into the empty, black sockets of HAOS.

Chris yanked his gaze back up and climbed because his life depended on it. “Run!” he shouted as Piers reached the top and Leon got close. A glance forward showed they could only keep going up, and this thing was pursuing them with the rabid hunger of an animal. Piers turned around to offer a hand up, but paled when he saw the creature just behind Chris. Chris felt the gust of air that came with a thundering yowl and screaming again: _”Run!”_

“Oh shit, Captain—”

_”Chris!”_

Chris’s legs were burning, his body already pushed to its limit three times over in the past night. As he reached the final rungs, two sets of hands came down and grabbed him by the biceps and elbows, hoisting him up just as a white palm crashed into the ladder where Chris had been, sending the foundation trembling. “It’s big, it’s really fucking big!” Piers babbled as he failed to let go of Chris even as he started to flee, tugging him along, Leon following right behind with his eyes on the creature rather than forward. “Chris, go!”

Chris’s legs found their strength again and he fell into a dead sprint, yanking Piers with him. The metal grating protested beneath his heavy steps, Piers and Chris desperate to get out of reach. The hot breath of the monster was on their heels, on their backs, the exposed skin of their necks, wet and putrid and horrifying. The grating went up forever and ever, climbing the circular walls, a spiral up to the top. A burst of adrenaline had Chris shoving Piers forward so he could reach back for—

The stall in his momentum had the pale hand slamming down in front of him, between Piers and Chris, and the grating he was standing on swayed dangerously, Chris unable to catch himself, pitching to the side, nearly wobbling off the edge—

Hands caught him, Leon yanking Chris from the ledge and into his chest as Leon raised the Samurai Edge and slammed three rounds into HAOS’s empty left socket. The creature screamed and lurched away in pain, the hand slipping off the grating, Leon gaining speed again and pulling Chris with him. Piers reached for them both, hands going to Chris’s vest and Leon’s sleeve and pulling them with him as he started to run. It was frantic, uncontrolled, terrifying, and a blur. They reached the top and the elevator that was at the end of the spiral, Piers all but falling onto the solid ground of the lift and pulling Chris in with him as Leon skidded and turned on his heel, slamming the buttons on the control panel, the doors sliding shut just as HAOS reached them again, that horrifying maw open and roaring rotten breath into the enclosed space just before the doors locked shut and the lift ascended.

Chris slumped against the nearest wall and tugged Piers into his chest, clinging to the young soldier as the adrenaline slammed hard into his pulse. It wasn’t over— he couldn’t let himself relax. And unlike every combat situation Chris could remember, he was being hunted by a creature that he had no method for defeating. He was officially shit out of luck.

“Chris.”

His name was panted into his neck, Piers leaning into him, trembling like a leaf. Chris couldn’t remember if Piers had ever faced anything like that, but he knew Chris Redfield had never seen such a horrifying visage as HAOS. The implications of its infection and destructive ability aside, HAOS itself was a _monster._ The human skull would haunt Chris’s dreams for the rest of his life.

Then Piers was pulling away, his own eyes far-away and glassy, and Chris was suddenly very worried. “It’s like releasing this thing was Ada’s plan all along,” he said, his words almost slurred. Something was suddenly on Piers’s mind and Chris didn’t like it one bit.

He nodded regardless. “The missiles were just a distraction.”

“Ada didn’t do this.”

Chris and Piers both looked to Leon, who was standing tall and facing the doors. The thrum of the lift ascending beneath their feet would’ve been soothing if Chris wasn’t denying himself the chance to think about how they were going to die down here. There was nothing in any of their respective arsenals that could take this thing down. Leon’s statement of them making it out was seeming more impossible by the second. 

“Ada didn’t do this,” Leon said again. “No offense— you guys really don’t know her.”

“She’s the one behind all this!” Piers growled, eyes suddenly wild. “We’ve seen her standing above countless bodies! When will you get it through your head that the woman you know is a monster just like the rest of them?!”

“Ada really isn’t the kind of person to want things loud,” Leon argued gently, a stark contrast to Piers’s quick fire shouts. “If she wanted to bring about the end of the world, she’d do it cleanly. Not like this.”

Piers looked distantly horrified, but Chris wasn’t sure who Piers was horrified with. “It doesn’t matter,” Chris said, pushing himself off the wall to stand like Leon was. “All we need to focus on right now is making sure that thing doesn’t make it into open water. The world depends on us.”

“Right,” Leon agreed softly. “We can take this thing down— we always have.”

Chris— really didn’t think they could. And a glance to Piers told Chris that his soldier was thinking the same thing. Maybe Leon had some sort of endless optimism or maybe he was just stupid, but Chris didn’t think they were going to be getting out of here in one piece. Their best shot was looking like bringing the roof down and praying it crushed HAOS along with them. And Chris had never really liked the concept of martyrdom.

The elevator stopped. The door opened. Leon was striding out of the lift before Piers and Chris could even blink, his broad shoulders a dark silhouette against the deep blue light.

The room was huge, just like everything else down here, with a grating system along the edges above running water that poured into a pit in the center. Above the pit was an odd amalgam of machinery and tubing, pods looking almost like the exhaust of jet engines exuding artificial blue light stemming from a huge, metal orb in the center of the ceiling, like a central core unit. Chris and Piers followed Leon in with a healthy amount of wariness, their guns up while Leon just surveyed the area. The rush of the water beneath their feet that was pitching off into the emptiness of the pit was a dull white noise as Chris stared at Leon’s back and remembered—

_Something._

He remembered something. 

A terrible thing that smelled like sweet flowers and death, Leon’s back to Chris like it was now as he faced down a giant, and the way Leon would hit the ground, body broken, without making a sound. Chris remembered the fear of losing Leon over and over and over, the emotion welling up in his throat and threatening to spill out like a body expelled disease. Chris took a step back and remembered the way Leon didn’t scream when in the grips of monsters. He only ever took the blow and got back up, deadly and stubborn and relentless. 

Chris remembered something that he loved in Leon and the onslaught of emotion startled him.

Then a roar came from the pit. Pale hands reached for the darkness. Bay doors began to close, water covered inch by inch by sheets of steel, but the doors weren’t fast enough.

Leon didn’t flinch as HAOS burst from the depths, howling, blood spurting from its sides as the doors cinched tight and held it there, limbs thrashing, hollow eyes like staring into the emptiness of a black hole as it stared them down.

“How is this thing not dead?!” Piers cried out, his voice hoarse, his hands shaking like a leaf. Chris stood beside him and brought up his ACR, ready to defend Piers. Leon did the same in front, and even without words, understanding passed between them. They weren’t leaving this thing alive— and that was the long and the short of it.

Chris fired first— Leon only a split second after. The creature howled and lashed out, HAOS trying to smash them into bits, so they had to move quickly, keep light on their feet. Leon’s shots landed true, right in the sockets, penetrating into whatever was beneath that made this thing tick while Chris drew its attention with the smattering of his rounds, making HAOS hurt. Piers stuck close to Chris, his semiautomatic sputtering in Chris’s ear. 

HAOS tore itself from the doors as they finally slammed shut, blood and guts spilling into the rising water as the monster was cut in half. Yet it didn’t stop, using its powerful arms to pull itself around the huge room, reaching for them with blind hunger. Chris sloshed through the water, not letting it get close, relying on Leon to lay down the real damage as Chris kept Piers up and functioning. 

It was utter chaos, bullets flying at a towering behemoth that seemed to suck in lead like a sponge while it slammed its lumbering, severed torso into the walls, weakening the strength of the foundation. Leon never faltered, even as Chris was sure he was starting to run low on ammo just like Chris slowly was. There wasn’t any other option than to keep moving, keep firing, keeping going until this thing was dead. And then, suddenly, no fanfare, no sound, HAOS slumped into the water.

Leon took a step back, watching the thing go limp, and his brow furrowed. “Wait— that’s it?”

Overhead, windows shattered and metal began to fall. The ocean poured in through ill-designed sky lights, the room filling quickly. Chris grabbed Piers by the vest to keep him close as the undertow dragged them down, their feet slipping on sheet metal, the water tasting too much like iron. Chris was tossed about by the surge beneath the surface, but he never once let go of Piers, kicking and fighting for the surface that was steadily getting closer and closer with the rising water. As his lungs began to burn, his fingers knotted in the crisscross of metal and Chris yanked himself up into air, pulling Piers up first and shoving the man onto the platform Chris had gotten ahold of. Piers sputtered and gulped down air, spitting water and gagging. Chris hoisted himself up and to Piers’s side, slapping his back twice just to get anything else out of him. Then Chris went up on his knees, looked around—

Where was Leon?

To his left, just behind, a body broke the surface, Leon throwing his hair out of his eyes as he escaped the swirling darkness of the water below. “Oh thank fuck,” Chris breathed before reaching out and grabbing Leon’s extended arm as the man swam for them, fighting through the churning waters. Chris pulled Leon onto the platform and Leon—

Immediately shoved his body into Chris’s arms, teeth chattering, shaking like a leaf. “W-what?” Chris fumbled to ask even as his body was reacting on instinct, wrapping his arms around Leon and holding him close to his chest. The man was frigid to the touch, somehow colder than himself and Piers. Leon’s fingers weakly curled in the sleeves of Chris’s shirt as he huddled into Chris for warmth, whispering something Chris couldn’t make out under his breath.

“Is he okay?” Piers asked, his words still a little raspy as he crawled to Leon and Chris’s side, watching Leon warily like Leon was about to either pass out or turn.

“He’s just— cold,” Chris said haltingly, the words meaning something even if he didn’t quite understand them. “Give him a second.” He held Leon a little tighter and wondered what the hell was going to happen now.” Give him a second.”

Leon suddenly pushed him away and sat up. His lips were almost blue. Had he been dragged even deeper under than Chris and Piers? He’d been closer to the windows that had shattered—

“Let’s go.” Leon stood and looked down his Samurai Edge, pulling back the bolt, releasing the cartridge before slamming it back in, acting as if nothing had happened just now, that Leon hadn’t just tied to crawl into Chris’s chest in a desperate search for warmth. “Your guns still work?”

“Fuck,” Chris checked his own over, grimacing at the water that dripped from the parts. “Good enough— it’ll still fire.”

Leon paused. “… Maybe you don’t remember, but do you mind if I ask what you did with Matilda?”

Chris’s thoughts fumbled over themselves for a good few breaths until a sentence emerged that he decided to just verbalize. “I— it’s on my wall. In my office?” He looked to Piers for confirmation, received only puzzlement, and then looked back to Leon. “It’s on my wall.”

Leon, surprisingly, gave him a grin. “Maybe we’ll finally manage to trade back one day,” he said, holding the Samurai Edge up for emphasis. “Rot deserves a good retirement.”

“Rot?” Piers repeated as they slowly started to move, walking away from the swirling waters behind. Whatever was in front of them couldn’t be worse than what they’d just fought. “What’s that?”

“The name of this gun— Chris’s old gun, from when he was in S.T.A.R.S..” Chris _knew_ he’d known that was his gun, relieved Leon was confirming it. “I named it after him.”

“That’s— flattering? I guess?” Piers didn’t look like he meant that. Leon was still grinning a little as he shook the water from his hair, blond glistening in the dim light of the facility. 

“It’s okay,” Leon said. “Chris knows I’m good at naming things.”

Chris nodded without thinking. “Matchelangelo.”

Piers sputtered a noise while Leon’s head snapped to him in disbelief. Chris winced, realizing he would have to disappoint. “I don’t— know where that’s from. But I know it.”

Leon stared at him for a moment, then smiled again— softer. “Good enough for me.”

The hall they were moving down— away from the core where they’d fought HAOS— was long with machinery beneath the platform and glass overhead that looked like the webbed eyes of an insect. The ocean was empty and green beyond and everything was too close to too quiet. 

“Fuck,” Piers breathed, his footsteps heavy as Leon went first again, the blond somehow vigilant despite the exhaustion Chris knew had to be eating away at him. “I can’t wait to go home and crawl into bed. Gonna eat such bad food. Absolute junk food.”

“Not if I have anything to say about it,” Leon drawled. “You need to eat the right foods after coming down from such a demanding op. Food is just as vital to a full recovery as rest. If you don’t give your body what it needs to rebuild, you won’t come out the same way you went in.”

Chris saw a shadow creep across the ground in front of them. He stopped dead in his tracks and looked ahead. Leon and Piers were walking side by side, talking like everything was normal as something hulking descended from above. One second everything was fine—

The next, the hall shook, Leon and Piers crying out as they were thrown off their feet, HAOS landing hard on the curved ceiling above. Chris watched the two men, dread seeping through him as he realized, hazily, that this thing wasn’t going to go down easy. No wonder Leon had seemed so stunned they’d brought it down back there— it was because they’d barely left a dent.

“Chris, run!” Piers shouted as he clambered to his feet with one of Leon’s hands in his BDUs, the older man looking back at Chris with wild eyes and an outstretched arm even as Piers started to flee, Chris digging his boots in and _gunning_ for the other end of the hall. A pale hand crashed through the ceiling, water pouring in, Leon skidding to a halt only to fire three clean shots into the grasping palm, the hand yanking back with a water-logged muffle of pain. “Fuck, go, go!”

Chris bolted forward, catching up and grabbing Piers by the vest, Leon and Chris both practically dragging the younger man along as they both ran for the light at the end of the tunnel— the next facility, the way out, and not this terrifying sprint trying to guess where the hand would come through next. Water was beginning to pool, reaching Chris’s ankles, and the hand crashed through just behind them, Piers crying out as he tripped, Leon pulling him along with pure adrenaline, not allowing Piers to fall. The other side was close, Chris could see the fluorescent glow of the facility beyond. Just a little further, and they’d be safe, just keep going, keep going, don’t fall—

Only a few yards away, the hand broke through and water slammed into them like a freight train, the water rising to their waists and beyond, cold and clammy. For a moment, dragged under, there was darkness before Chris pulled himself up by the wall, and saw the light ahead beginning to dim— the door was slowly drawing shut, the top sliding down, likely an airlock mechanism against the rising tide. He thrashed forward and shoved himself into the slowly-shrinking space, screaming his throat raw as his muscles tore themselves apart to lift the door, the top of it wedged into Chris’s shoulder, his legs forcing it open. His entire body trembled, but he refused to let the door fall shut— not when Leon’s head broke the surface of the frigid waters and pulled Piers from the depths with him. 

“Hurry!” Chris shouted, his voice hoarse and his limbs begging for him to give up and die to escape the pain. “I can’t— _I can’t hold it!_ ” The door was heavier than anything Chris could remember. The machinery insisted and the cold waters rushed at his waist. His foot slipped and he cried out, losing another inch, his collarbone howling a protest. He saw stars and tasted blood. His thighs trembled and he was sure he’d be cut in half.

Then Leon shoved Piers past Chris and fell through the gap, wrapping both his arms around Chris’s waist to let his weight wrench Chris out from under the door, Chris dropping atop Leon on the other side as the door slammed shut.

Leon grunted in his ear as Chris failed to catch his own fall, Leon cushioning him. Those hands wrapped around his torso were secure and strong and Chris was loath to pull away, even though he knew he had to. He felt a drag of air from beneath him and rolled off of Leon, looking down at the blond with something in his eyes that even he couldn’t understand. And Leon looked back at up him with that same _something_ , hair tousled and splayed around his head on the grimy metal floor, blue eyes on him like the searching beacon of a lighthouse. 

Chris grabbed Leon by the hand and elbow, hoisting him to his feet, nodding to the man in gratitude and saying, “Thanks.”

Leon nodded, back, warmth in his gaze that quickly faded to grim acceptance. “On you, Chris.” Then Leon clapped him on the shoulder and he turned around, looking to where they could go next.

A wall of glass faced them, wrapped in more of the insect-like webbing. The ocean was empty and vast in front of them as Piers came and stood by Chris’s side, the young man’s shoulders heaving with every breath he took. Chris put a hand on his shoulder, steadying him, and glanced to Leon.

“Chris,” Leon said. “… I’ve got a really bad feeling.”

The words were an omen. Not even a moment later, that shadow swam through the verdant depths. Something like tentacles that propelled it forward twisted behind its torso, that bulbous head pausing and then turning towards them. Chris held his breath and reached for Leon as HAOS stilled— his hand was in the back of Leon’s shirt to pull him away from the glass as the shadow burst into motion and slammed into the webbing, shattering the glass, Chris and Piers both throwing an arm up to protect themselves from any stray shards. 

“We’re sitting ducks!” Piers rasped. “We need to move!” The shadow suddenly disappeared, light filling the small area again. To their left, at a dead end, there was the sudden thumping of a heavy weight banging on the outside. “Oh fuck,” Piers whispered. 

The dead end burst open, HAOS reaching through, its head penetrating the interior of the facility first, those empty eyes boring into Chris’s soul. He was turning to run only once he was sure Leon and Piers were doing the same, the three of them not even wasting the breath to scream as they sprinted for the next airlock door that was just ahead, yet seemingly miles away. Behind them, HAOS pursued them with the terrifying tenacity of a starving animal, this monster showing such horrifying intelligence in its understanding of object permanence and where its prey would be— of where its prey had left to run. 

Even as Chris put everything he had in outrunning this monstrosity, he realized that they were going to run out of places to hide. 

This creature— HAOS— it was going to _kill_ them.

They reached the door in a mess of fear, Chris falling through first, Leon skidding through with the water drenching him, Piers rolling through the last foot of space, Leon reaching back for him to pull him forward—

Pale fingers, a huge hand, Piers suddenly thrown up and into the air in the grip of HAOS as it burst through the airlock and swung Piers around like he was a doll. Leon screamed something unintelligible as Chris brought up his gun and fired blindly, hearing only Piers’s cries of pain. Gunfire joined his, but HAOS was unflinching, whipping Piers through the air and then throwing him—

Piers span, limp, flying—

He hit the far wall hard, dropping to the ground—

And then there was blood, so much blood, torn shrapnel tearing through his shoulder, Piers throwing his head back as he screamed. Leon darted between Piers and HAOS, firing into the blind eyes of the monster, as Chris made to run for Piers, Leon covering them. His boots slapped through inches of water, and then there was a darkness and tearing metal, Piers screaming even _louder_ as thrown debris crushed his wounded arm, red spurting from Piers’s lips. Chris still scrambled to reach his shoulder, horror lacing through him—

_”Chris!”_

Leon’s shout of warning came too late as those horrible hands snatched Chris up, wrapping tight and _squeezing_ Chris crying out and kicking uselessly in the grip of the giant. He was lifted up and forced to stare into the empty eyes, seeing his death in the darkness below him as HAOS observed him with indifference. He beat uselessly at the grip that was grinding his bones together, thinking of Piers and the blood that was staining the waters. He couldn’t even reach his fucking gun, he couldn’t get free, Piers was going to bleed out in the cold and Leon—

Gunshots—

Piercing and fatal, slamming into translucent skin and cracking infected bone, it wasn’t enough but Leon wasn’t giving up and—

_“Piers, no!”_

Leon’s cry sent cold fear down Chris’s spine, fear that was more toxic than being caught in this thing’s grip. The hopelessness was palpable— the end of the line was staring him down. What could Piers possibly—

A bright light flared like a storm and HAOS was thrown back, Chris plummeting into the water, hands grabbing at his vest and pulling him up. Chris sputtered and gasped and blinked away the drops of the ocean to look up past Leon and see Piers standing tall, expression grim and determined, disease sprouting and twisting from his shoulder like the sickly branch of a tree. Then Piers lifted the awful thing and Chris realized that was his _arm_ , oh god, oh _fuck, what had happened to his arm_ —

“Piers, don’t!” Leon was shouting as he fought to get Chris to his feet, HAOS thrashing behind them as Piers extended his arm and a _bolt of genuine god damn fucking lightning_ shot through the air, hitting HAOS in the neck, the room smelling of burnt flesh as it screamed. “Piers, for the love of god, _stop!”_

“Get the captain out of here,” Piers rasped, sounding nothing like himself. He was stalking towards them through the water, letting Chris see the extent of the infection— how had this even happened, how had Piers been infected at all?— letting Chris see the milky emptiness that was now Piers’s right eye. “You two get out while you can.” Piers flexed his ruined limb and set his jaw. “I’ll handle this.”

_“Like hell you will,”_ Chris spat before shoving Leon away and standing on his own two feet, facing Piers down with the same determination reflecting between them. “I started this— I’m finished it. With you.”

Piers’s expression flinched— Chris couldn’t imagine the pain he was in. “Then let’s finish it, Captain.”

HAOS slammed the ground behind them and howled, reaching to snatch Chris away again, but Piers slammed the ground with the infection and it was like the world itself lit up as HAOS was scorched again, the electricity arching impossibly through the waves and lighting up the monster’s veins. And all the while, Piers didn’t look away from Chris.

In the connection of their gazes, Chris knew Piers understood he was going to die.

“You don’t know what you’ve done,” Leon choked out as he reloaded his gun and stared at the arm like he was going to vomit. “Dammit Piers— you better let me fix you!”

It seemed Leon wasn’t capable of catching on. There was something strangely admirable in Leon’s inability to give up on anyone or anything. Leon turned to face HAOS, wrenching his gun up into the air, and barking back an order. “Help me take this thing down so we can say this shit was worth it!”

Piers grinned through the pain and sparks arched through the air from his arm. “You got it, Agent Kennedy.”

Chris brought up the ACR and nodded. “On you, Leon.”

“On me,” Leon replied, his words ragged. “Chris and I make the distraction, expose those bright guts on the inside, and Piers fries it every chance he gets. I’m counting three hearts or whatever the fuck keeps this thing moving, so we’re destroying every lat bit of its insides before we call it dead for good. If it gets fast on its feet, then we regroup and find another way. No martyrs— we all make it out of here and see the sun again.” He looked back at them both over his shoulders, haunted. “Understand?”

The two soldiers nodded and found companionship in sharing the burden of giving Leon a lie.

“Alright,” Leon said, cocking his gun. “This one’s for the future.”

Then he moved, darting forward, the cold and the water and the fear not tethering him to anything. Chris and Piers followed, falling into the roles with the perfected skill of trained soldiers, orders echoing in their heads.

It was chaos, but when was it not? HAOS was a beast, terrifying in its intelligence, in its tenacity and ability to get cut up into pieces yet still keep living, like an earthworm under the knife of curious children. Even as Chris and Leon peppered it with bullets, counting shots and calling out reloads, making every round count and every crackle of Piers’s infected ability through the air, it felt hollow.

Piers was infected. Chris— didn’t think he could lie to himself forever. But every time he passed Piers, every time he stood close to his soldier, asked if he was okay, if he was still with them, if HAOS thundering after them with its hands slapping and making waves, the guts squirming like they had minds of their owns, the stench of rot penetrating their thoughts, Chris could see that Piers was fighting with everything he had— fighting both himself and HAOS. There was a bomb in Piers’s veins and a timer counting down with steady cruelty and Chris realized that if Jake Muller had died down here, then so would Piers.

Chris could not lose Piers.

He’d already lost so much— his memories, his purpose in life, his family. He’d gotten Leon back, but Leon was only a shadow of a name and a warm feeling that made the shakes stop. Piers was the one who had dragged Chris out of the mud and made him face reality, made him face the painful truths and fight through it. Chris had resented Piers for putting him in danger, but if Piers had been able to find him, then anyone else could have too, eventually. People that had wanted Chris dead or worse, people that would get off on making him suffering. Piers had been a callous asshole, but he was a best case scenario for dragging Chris back into the life. And Chris really couldn’t expect kindness and gentleness from anyone— he knew that now.

Chris Redfield was a hardened shell of a warrior who lived and breathed to ensure that his men came home from hell. He’d failed one too many times before and every failure was a nail in his proverbial coffin. Piers had been Chris’s guiding light whether Chris had wanted the light or not. Now that Chris was here, struggling and screaming and desperate, Chris knew he needed that light just as keenly as he needed the warmth of Leon. Chris Redfield needed Piers.

And Piers was infected.

Leon roared as he slammed a combat knife into the second of the pulsing sacks of innards in HAOS’s diaphragm. Chris had punctured the first, now Leon the second, leaving only one. Beside Chris, Piers was struggling for breath, his entire body heaving with each ragged draw of air that sounded like it was filtering through shattered bone in Piers’s lungs. Chris couldn’t imagine the pain he was in, and the sight of Piers’s pale right eye was sending Chris nearly into hysterics because part of him was insisting Piers’s eyes should be red.

Chris had spent far too long in China believing Piers should be someone else— Piers was _his partner_ and Chris was a bastard for wishing him to be anyone but who he was. Chris prayed— _prayed_ — that Piers made it through this if only to give Chris the chance to apologize and change for good— for the better.

“Move!”

Leon’s shout came seconds before Leon’s body slamming between them, shoving Chris away and using his weight to drag Piers to the left with him, HAOS’s wild swing shaking the ground as it landed where they’d once been. Piers was in agony, but Chris didn’t have an excuse. He was getting lost in his head when he needed to be here, right now, fighting this monster and beating that timer in Piers’s veins. He drew up his ACR, peppered his last shots, and then tossed it aside for the 909 that just didn’t feel right. It had too little kick and felt tiny and useless and he really just wanted to toss this fucking thing to the ground and—

“Here.”

Leon was suddenly at his side, sloshing through the water, pulling the 909 from Chris’s hands and slipping the Samurai Edge into his palm. Leon’s breath ghosted his cheek as Leon slid a cartridge into the bottom, pulled the slide, and squeezed his wrist. Chris, almost too stunned to pull the trigger, looked over in time to see Leon draw Piers’s Mechem NTW-20 up and turn the slide, peering down the scope with grace, squeezing the trigger and barely flinching as the high caliber round pierced teeth and sent HAOS writhing on the ground. 

“That’s the way, Agent Kennedy!” Piers cried out, his words hoarse as he spanned volts through the water, webbing and piercing HAOS, the creature shrieking loud enough to hurt. 

“That’s your gun,” Leon said, giving Chris a look over the stock of the rifle. “Use it.”

Chris didn’t need to be told twice— the solid weight in his palms, the width and the grip and the glint of cold steel all resonated familiar and beautiful in his frazzled thoughts. He pulled the trigger and grinned despite everything as the kickback and the echo and even the muzzle flash all fit together like puzzle pieces. The vibrations rattled his hands and it felt fucking good to be holding his Samurai Edge again, the gun that had been made for him, made for his people, made for Chris and only Chris. It felt like fucking _heaven_ and Chris was going to put HAOS in the ground, get his soldier home, and find out how to be Chris Redfield so his bones could be his again. Breathing in, then out, Chris fired shot after shot, aiming true, landing every single bullet in the ribcage, shattering the defenses of HAOS and ripping it to shreds with Leon’s deadly accuracy and Piers’s thunder.

And then— the last bit broke away right as HAOS shoved through the water and knocked Leon off his feet. Leon cried out, the sound itself louder than gunfire to Chris’s psyche, but then Piers was in front of HAOS, between the monster and Leon’s prone figure that suddenly wasn’t lifting itself from the water like he should have. Piers was between HAOS and Leon, electricity pulsing, Piers crying out in pain as he held HAOS at bay. The last bit had been broken away, they were so close, they had almost won, _they were so close—_

Chris darted through the water, snatching up Leon’s combat knife from the man’s vest, running for his soldiers and slamming the knife into HAOS’s last weakly beating heart with a battle cry worthy of legend. And instead of screaming, instead of thrashing, instead of destroying everything, HAOS suddenly went very still and very quiet. It was like the world itself had suddenly been muted. There was a ringing in Chris’s ears as the pulsing beneath the blade suddenly went still.

Then HAOS dropped— it crashed into the water, waves rippling outwards, and stayed there.

It was dead.

It was actually, well and truly, dead.

Chris stared at it, his own heart pounding in his ears. And then, from Piers, beside him— 

_“I’m… still… me…”_

Chris slammed into Piers, yanking the man into his arms, getting a hand around the back of his neck and forcing Piers to look at him. “We’re getting out of here,” he rasped as he heard Leon stagger to his feet behind them, the water sloshing loudly as the agent pulled himself back together. Chris would’ve helped him, but Piers— 

“You hear me?” he demanded of Piers, begging. “Stay with me. We’re getting you out of here!”

Piers’s one good eye was dull and tired and pained as he gave a weak nod. There was more movement behind them, then Leon’s voice calling out as metal creaked. “We gotta move,” Leon said, his own words dragging. Chris turned around and could see Leon slouched against the furthest wall, a door open beside him. “C’mon— there’s gotta be a way out.”

“Gimme your arm, Piers,” Chris ordered, grabbing Piers’s wrist without waiting for a response, slinging it over his shoulders and taking Piers’s weight. He would have carried the man if he didn’t know that it would slow them down too much. Piers’s feet dragged so Chris pulled him along, to the door, to Leon. Leon waited for them to leave HAOS behind in that cold, dark room, closing the door behind them with a grunt of effort.

They were on some sort of skywalk high above different pods and chambers all held in the air by a complex system of tubes. The whole place glowed an iridescent green that made Chris’s stomach churn. It was all too sci-fi for him, too over the top of wasteful and stupid, a monument to the vanity of Neo-Umbrella and their twisted game. 

_“Warning. Facility’s infrastructure compromised. Unable to withstand water pressure. All personnel evacuate immediately.”_

“Up ahead.”

Chris looked up at Leon’s words and saw the flashing green lights, the doors at the end of the walkway, their only way out. He gave the agent a nod, hoisted Piers a little higher up his shoulder, and marched.

Carrying Piers like this felt like one of the most important things he’d ever done. The facility shook around them, the ceiling falling apart and plummeting below, live wires twisting and the dull roar of flooding water a constant thrum in his ears. Leon’s broad shoulders were a focal point in front, a goal for Chris to reach, Piers heavy at his side and breathing shallowly, the infected arm popping and sizzling with electricity that Piers couldn’t control. And despite the smell of ozone and blood, despite the skywalk swaying beneath their feet, despite the exhaustion that was part of them in every way by now, Leon never stopped moving, Chris never stopped following, and Piers never tried to make him give up.

They reached the green doors, the metal sliding open and revealing eight escape pods lining opposite sides of the walls. Chris breathed a noise of relief as Leon darted forward, heading to the control panel of the nearest one and clacking away at the keys. Chris carefully lowered Piers against the wall next to their pod, going down on a knee in front of him and clasping him behind the neck again to bring their foreheads together.

“I told you, didn’t I?” he asked, purely rhetorical, knowing Piers was in too much pain to talk. “I’m taking you home. Everything’s gonna be okay— we’re gonna get home.”

Piers’s mismatched eyes bored into him with heartbreak and Chris didn’t know what to say. The infected arm pulsed and Piers grit his teeth, agony twisting his expression. There was a choked noise from the back of Piers’s throat and Chris saw the blood splatter his lips as infection began to split the skin of his face. The disease was reaching further and further by the second. If they didn’t reach the surface—

“Got it!” Leon shoved away from the control panel and grabbed for Piers’s shoulders, Chris helping the man lift Piers to his feet. The bright light from the escape pod was like the gates of heaven even as Chris watched the infection claw even deeper into Piers’s skin, the other eye beginning to glaze over as well. Piers let out this miserable noise that was almost a sob. Chris couldn’t let himself give up.

“Gonna get you home,” he was rambling. “Get you to your family, get you back to everyone, let them see the cool new scars and listen to the stories you make up for them, gonna let you see the sun again, gonna make everything right—”

Suddenly Piers wasn’t in his arms anymore. Chris was weightless as he fell through the air, having been pushed, his shoulder and hip hitting the ground and rattling his teeth. He looked up from inside the pod to the exterior, where Piers was watching him with resignation and— bravery. 

Chris’s gut twisted as his heart sunk. “No.”

The pod door hissed as it began to swing inwards. Chris watched Piers—

Be yanked into the pod by an arm around his neck, Leon S. Kennedy growling a curse as he threw both himself and Piers inside with Chris. Immediately, Piers began to fight, thrashing and begging to be left behind, his voice breaking as he tried to explain he was going to kill them. Chris could barely think as he reached out with numb hands and helped Leon hold Piers down so Leon could—

Shove some pills into Piers’s mouth?

With the pills past cracked, blood-stained lips, Leon shoved Piers’s mouth closed and pinched his nose so he’d be forced to swallow them down. Piers went rigid, his eyes shooting open and rolling back, the infection in his arm suddenly roiling like it was crawling beneath his skin. Leon’s hand fell away, and Piers’s mouth fell open only for a ruined, bubbling scream to tear itself from his throat.

Leon hit Piers over the head with the side of the 909 and Piers fell blessedly silent, breathing shallowly, the arm still roiling, the electricity—

Not crackling. And the infection wasn't spreading. And Piers wasn’t— he wasn’t getting worse. He very suddenly wasn’t getting worse.

The pod suddenly jerked and shot through the water, Leon laying his body atop Piers to hold the unconscious man steady as they were rattled by the G-forces. Air and whatever else was in this brought them crashing to the surface, the escape pod breaching and bobbing, a high pitched beep coming from a control panel at the back wall Chris hadn’t seen until now likely bringing aid to their position. Chris looked to Leon, gaping, and asked, “What did you do?”

Leon smiled shakily back, glancing down at Piers and nodding when he saw the infection had still failed to spread. “I’ll tell you later— just know you owe Ada Wong a favor.”

Chris didn’t know what to say to that. He could only slump against the ground at Piers’s side and clutch Piers’s good hand in his own, clinging to the warmth and let himself believe that all of the desperate promises he’d made could actually come true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PIERS IS ALIVE **DO THE HUSTLE**


	11. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THAT'S ALL FOLKS
> 
> for now
> 
> vendetta is next-- it's gonna be two chapters and the first chap is gonna be some *original content* in the sense that I'm gonna try to fill up the biggest cg movie hole they've ever made. *let's find out what happened in virginia*
> 
> then after that is the epilogue which is just gonna be fluff and shit so look forward to that
> 
> I wanted to thank anyone and everyone who muddled through this with me ;u; re6 is just a bitch and a half even to those who adore the game and I'm just really grateful everyone was patient with me and allowed me to take my time and figure out how to save our good boys. I'm not 100% happy with this but hey-- sometimes things just don't work out. at least piers is alive!
> 
> (also just feeling the waters would anyone be interested in a Jake POV character study/getting together fic that focuses on Jake's relationship with Leon and his romance with Piers just asking for a friend)

“Where are you now?” Leon asked Helena softly over his phone as he carefully and quietly slinked through the linoleum halls of the Shanghai hospital they’d been medevaced to.

_“Somewhere outside of Chinese airspace,”_ Helena replied, sounding tired but somehow leagues better than when Leon had last seen her. _“Ada had a contact bring us out once we destroyed all of Carla’s research. I’m not sure where we’re going next, but she sounded pretty confident that I’d be ‘quite pleased’— whatever the hell that means. At least I’m not having to listen to Simmons’ insane bullshit anymore.”_

Leon somehow managed a smile even as he realized his footsteps were just a little louder than normal, exhaustion wearing him down too. The hall was dark and quiet and he jumped at every slightest noise, even the nurses mostly silent. The aftermath of Lanshiang hadn’t reached as far as Shanghai, so there wasn’t an influx of patients in the hazmat ward of the hospital. It was almost dead in here, and yet Leon couldn’t make himself relax. He’d been on alert for far too long and being in a hospital wasn’t the ideal place to come down from his adrenaline. 

Still— hearing Helena’s voice— knowing she was okay— it helped. After everything, it helped. “Are you gonna be sticking with her?” he asks cautiously. It wasn’t like Ada wasn’t a somewhat decent person when it came down to it— especially now that Leon knew what had happened with there being _two_ Adas— but he worried regardless. “She doesn’t exactly live a normal life.”

_“How could I ever be normal after this?”_

Helena had a point and Leon couldn’t even think of where he could begin to try to argue. Sometimes he wondered why he hadn’t ended up like Ada— selling viruses to the wrong people, bringing about apocalypses for a job. It would’ve been somewhat par for the course considering how Leon had been burned by his own government countless times. He supposed it was Sherry’s influence that had kept Leon from going dark side. Sherry and—

_“How is he?”_

Helena’s question interrupted Leon’s silence, but not his train of thought. She was asking about the very person he’d been thinking of. “Alive,” Leon replied. “Both of them. I’m not sure what went down once Jake and Sherry got topside, but the vaccine was practically waiting for us, or at least the early stages, courtesy of Rebecca Chambers and her computers.” 

He hadn’t even seen the woman for more than a split second, the helicopter being piloted by the one and only Mike whisking them back to land, only for Rebecca to frantically shove through the crowd and slam a needle into Piers’s neck, then disappear not even a moment later. Leon wasn’t even sure if she’d seen Chris or Leon— if she’d just seen the young soldier that needed saving and only thought to act. It was nice, at least, to have Piers’s infection solved so quickly even if he couldn’t quite believe it. Piers had been yanked off for another helicopter, Mike taking Chris and Leon on the jet stream it left. Piers had been in surgery by the time they’d arrived, so now Leon was coming back from a much-needed shower, though it had felt useless after pulling his dirty clothes back on. 

At least Piers was out of surgery now. Leon hadn’t been sure where he was supposed to go from there, so he’d reached out to Hannigan to reach out to Helena and here he was. Shuffling through a quiet, dark hospital, feeling like an undead himself. He was hungry and tired and running on fumes and so inexplicably happy because Chris and Piers were alive, despite everything.

Miracles didn’t happen in Leon’s life— they just _didn’t._ So whatever was happening now was terrifyingly new.

“I’m heading back to the room they put Piers in after his operation,” Leon explained. “Just gonna check on them and then…”

And then what?”

_“What’s next, Leon?”_ Helena asked, echoing his thoughts again.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “DSO is gonna need some work and I— I have to deal with— with what I—”

He couldn’t get the name out: Adam.

Helena made a soft noise through the receiver. _“Whatever happens, you can always call me.”_

“I’m not about to drag you back into this life,” he told her with a sigh. “You’re out, right? I assume that’s why you’re with Ada? You’re done.” She didn’t answer, which was answer enough. “Do me a favor and see if you can set her straight? I’m tired of cleaning up messes by her design.”

_“It’s not like she’s—”_

“Helena, you’ve been in this shit for about three days while I’ve been doing it since 1998. Please do not argue with me.”

Despite Leon’s words, Helena laughed. It was a bright, cheerful sound that reminded him of something he’d never had. It was a nice thing to hear. He smiled back and shook his head, running a hand through his wet hair, grateful he didn’t smell of guts and sewage any longer. “So,” he said, trying to bring her attention back. “Just keep her in line, yeah? Or try. I have a feeling she’ll be as smitten with you as I was in a matter of days.”

_“Smitten? Or just chained?”_

Leon shrugged even though she couldn’t see it. “A little bit of both.”

_“And what about you?”_ Helena asked. _“Gonna smitten yourself with him?”_

That was a word for it. Leon sighed again, grimacing, pausing in his long walk to lean against the wall and just think. He hadn’t been able to stop and think in what felt like days. It probably had been days if he was being perfectly honest. “Not sure,” he admitted. “He’s not all back. I don’t know if he ever will be. And Piers was his family, I can’t see him just leaving Piers to be fuck all with me. And I’m gonna be so busy—”

_“Why do all of these sound like excuses?”_

Because they were. Leon only ever gave excuses and that was why he was chronically miserable. Leon heaved a breath and tipped his head back to stare up at the Cermaguard panel ceiling. Fire resistant and able to absorb moisture along with eighty-one percent light reflection. Perfect for the hazmat quarantine zone of the hospital. 

“They sound like excuses,” he began carefully. “Because they are excuses.” That was all there was to it. “I— don’t know where to go from here. I know DSO is going to be a shit show and I know I’m going to be dragged to countless hearings for what I’ve done. With you gone, I’ve become the sole witness to Simmons and his actions. And with Chris and Piers both compromised, I’m the only witness to HAOS and Carla’s final fuck you to the world as well. I. Am going to be so fucking busy.”

And he was so fucking tired.

“I want to go to him,” he whispered. “But I’m worried that once I do, I won’t be strong enough to pull away again.”

_“Then don’t pull away.”_

“He doesn’t remember me, Helena.”

_“He might one day.”_  
“So I’m supposed to just staple my hand to his until he does? If ever? I can’t smother him like that, Helena, I could make him worse.” It was Helena’s turn to sigh because she knew Leon was right. “No matter how much I want to throw everything away and be with him, I can’t. Piers is laid up in the hospital and Chris still has lingering amnesia. It’s just— not the right time.”

He’d been saying that for ages.

“But not like it was before,” he added as panic swam in his chest, panic he fought down. “I’m not doing this to torture myself or save someone. I’m not— I’m not denying what he and I have because I’m a glutton for punishment and a useless martyr. I’m just waiting. Okay? I’m waiting.”

_“For what?”_

“For him.” And that was going to be the easy part. “Once he gets it all back, I know he’ll find me.”

_“How can you be so sure?”_

Leon shuddered a breath. “Because even when he can’t remember me, he remembers _me._ He remembers the tiny things, like the stupid names I gave weapons and the way I want people to address me. He remembers that I can’t stand the cold. He remembers that I would die to protect him just as he’d do for me. And he remembers the love, I know he does, he just doesn’t remember loving me, but I know he can. Someday.” 

Please.

“I just have to wait until he gets it back,” Leon said again, solidifying this in his mind. “And I’ll wait as long as it takes. But I won’t give up on him. I won't give up on us.”

_“Attaboy.”_

Leon scoffed, his seriousness dying away at her words. “Jesus, Helena,” he said, smiling a little again. “I hope you rub off on Ada rather than her rub off on you. Not sure what this world would do without your sarcasm.”

_“She kissed me.”_

Leon nodded, having to fake surprise when he said, “Wow, she moves fast.”

_“You’re not shocked?”_

“She told me she preferred brunettes to blonds— this wasn’t exactly out of the left field.”

_“I’d thought— well, the way you were going after her—”_

“You still thought me and Ada were something even after I found Chris?” he asked. She let out another sigh and Leon grinned and finally started moving again. “Ada and I are complicated,” he settled for. “Not quite friends, but definitely not enemies. Just a lot of history that looks a little uglier than I wish it did. But she’s not mine, Helena, and she seems to have been taken by you. So whatever happens from here, just promise me one thing.”

_“What’s that?”_

“Promise you won’t hesitate to call me if you need help,” Leon said. “And promise you won’t forget you’ll always have me as an ally.”

_“Even if I follow her and sell?”_

“Even then,” he admitted. “I’ve never been morally sound in the first place. Just don’t wanna lose anyone else.”

_“You’re damaged as hell, Leon.”_

“So are you.”

Helena chuckled softly. _“I’ll keep you posted. Hopefully, wherever I end up, it’ll be where I’m supposed to be.”_ She paused. _“And I hope the same for you, Leon. I hope wherever this goes for you is where you’re supposed to be too. And I hope— I hope Chris is there with you.”_

Leon nodded. “Me too, Helena. Take care of yourself.”

_“You too, Leon.”_

The call ended and Leon took in the silence. Then static, then a voice. _“Was that what you wanted?”_

Leon smiled a little wider. “Thank you, Hannigan.”

_“Don’t thank me yet. Just get all your stuff in order and come back stateside. Congress wants to talk to you.”_

Of course they did. “Can you get me an hour?”

_“I can try.”_

“Thanks, Ingrid.”

The call ended abruptly, but Leon didn’t take offense to that. Hannigan always fought so hard to keep Leon at arm’s length, but tonight had changed things. She’d willingly put herself and her career on the line to give aid to fugitives guilty of high treason. Hannigan wouldn’t be able to claim she didn’t care ever again.

Leon turned a corner, expecting the soft glow from the observation window that peered into Piers’s room, but not at all expecting the tall, shadowed figure standing in front of said window, staring intently inside, dressed in the same clothes he’d escaped hell in just like Leon. Leon stopped in his tracks as he scanned Jake Muller for injuries, a really stupid habit he would never break, and wondered why Jake was even here. As far as Leon knew, Jake had ditched the country after leaving Sherry a sample of his blood for the synthesis of Rebecca’s vaccine and antidote. As far as Leon knew, Jake was supposed to be literally anywhere but here.

So why was he?

Leon cleared his throat and Jake’s sharp eyes snapped to him in the dark. Leon didn’t flinched and approached cautiously, watching Jake for any signs that he was going to run or something worse. Jake didn’t say a word as Leon made it to his side, only turning to look back into the hospital room where—

Leon halted again as he laid his eyes on Piers post-op for the first time.

His arm was gone.

Made sense, really. HAOS’s killed pitch had taken Piers’s human arm. The one that had spouted from its place had been pure infection and monster. It made sense that cutting it out of Piers was the only viable option for his recovery. The young soldier was asleep in the bed with Chris passed out in the chair beside him and Piers’s right eye was still there as far as Leon could tell, which was a relief. Leon wondered if it still had sight in it or if Piers would be able to get away with an eyepatch for the rest of his life. He was sure Piers would enjoy and despise the opportunity. It distantly occurred to Leon that Piers would need a prosthetic.

He didn’t say anything as he whipped out his phone and shot Hannigan a text, requesting referrals for leaders in military prosthetics. If they could get a jump on this early, Leon would be able to oversee the design process and maybe infer about some tweaks that could be made to get Piers back on the field. Another few seconds of searching brought up robotic prosthetics and a recent test for sensory input completed successfully at the University of Utah. He shot the link to the academic journal to Hannigan as well.

“The hell are you doing?”

Leon’s brow furrowed as his attention was split. He finished detailing his intentions to Hannigan and then looked up at Jake, blinking to clear his thoughts. “He doesn’t have an arm,” he replied, gesturing to Piers in the bed with his chin.

“I can see that,” Jake deadpanned. “Why the hell are you on your phone?”

Leon gave Jake a bewildered look. “He needs an arm.”

“Won’t BSAA and their cushy severance package cover that?”

“Like Pies would ever retire.” Leon looked back to his phone and nodded when Hannigan responded with an affirmative, saying she’d look into it immediately. “He needs an arm that will allow him to work in the field. Robotics is our best bet.”

Jake was silent. Leon looked up at him— and wasn’t that weird, having someone taller than him— and gave him a look. “What?”

“Nothing,” Jake replied, staring at him like he’d grown a second head. “Just— a little amazed by it all.”

Leon wasn’t sure what Jake meant, but he had a hunch. Seeing someone care about others, going out of their way to look out for their people. Jake had lived a life of danger and paranoia, constantly watching his back and front because he couldn’t trust anyone else to do it for him. Now, at the riveting age of twenty-one, he was being shown that even people of some measure of power like Leon or Chris could actually be selfless in the right situation and take care of their people, above and below, even if it wasn’t in their best interest. Leon almost wanted to ask when was the last time Jake had been given a hug, but that was probably way too personal.

“Pretty amazed he’s alive too,” Jake added, his eyes back on Piers in the room. “Mutt’s not looking to hot. He was never pedigree in the first place, but now he’s got another adoption deterrent.”

“It’s his arm, not his right to live,” Leon chided.

“Just saying,” Jake replied. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Redfield left him at the road side.”

Leon glared at the young man. “Watch your words, Jake.”

“Why?” he asked. “Should I be aware of some sort of law against criticizing him? The man shot my father, you know. I get that you were ready to take a bullet for him, but I’ve got a feeling that you aren’t exactly the best judge of character. What if I’m doing the world a favor just like he did when killing my father?”

“Jesus.” Leon didn’t even know where to begin with all of that. “Jesus— fuck.”

Jake smirked, lips curling like the devil, but his eyes didn’t leave Piers once. “Glad to know I can render even the great hero speechless.” He paused. “Sherry talked about you a lot.”

“Did she now,” Leon said as he still struggled to process that behemoth of a quandary Jake had given.

“She told me how you saved her life— and how you got taken away. Twice.” Jake was watching Piers, but he took a step away, an arm going around his middle while his hand went to stroke his jaw like he was thinking. “It was weird, you know. Everywhere I’ve gone, Americans have been seen as the bad guys, but really just in the corporate big-daddy’s-watching kind of way. Yeah, there are shitty people doing the dirty work, but the soldiers I’ve come across have been just about as hopelessly self-sacrificing as the mutt and his owner.”

“Chris doesn’t own Piers,” Leon said, taking baby steps. “They’re partners.”

“Captain to a soldier— there’s authority there that your precious Redfield can easily abuse without trying. And that’s not my point. It never really occurred to me that the Americans the world hates had been fucked by their own government too.”

Jake finally tore his gaze from Piers to Leon, practically judging him with his eyes like daggers. “Maybe tons of people around the world get fucked by the red white and blue, but so do you. You got snatched up and hauled away and forced to serve for bastards that saw you as a weapon. And that very same bastard tried to turn the world into his playground, leaving you to clean up after him. Doesn’t really seem fair, does it? Doesn’t seem like something a sane man would do for very long. Doesn’t seem— survivable.”

Leon narrowed his eyes. “What’s your point?”

“My point is, you have enough skill in your left nut to make you the highest paid mercenary on the market for just about any buyer, good or bad,” Jake huffed. “But instead of following the money, you keep your head down, stay anonymous despite the shit you’ve seen, the power abused on both sides, and you keep fighting for people that are responsible for half the problems. And I gotta tell ya, man— I don’t buy it for a second.”

“Buy what?”

“The aspect of martyrdom in and of itself— the idea that you’re doing this for the greater good. For the future of the world and future generations. Sherry said you’re doing it to keep the world safe, but I don’t buy the load of bullshit for anything.”

“Because it’s not what I was fighting for,” Leon replied with a shrug. “I was fighting for Sherry.” Jake didn’t say anything— shocking— so Leon went on. “Those bastards that hauled me away, as you said, had Sherry hanging over my head like a dog after a bone. As long as I did their dirty work, I could see her. As long as I fought, she was given a safe place to stay and a good education and a shot at making something of herself beyond what she’d survived. Back then, with how she’d been infected, she was the last surviving sample of the G-Virus, as far as I knew, and Umbrella was still at large. There was no way in hell I was letting her get tossed back out on the streets with no protection. They had me in handcuffs either way. I had a choice: rot away in a cell with no one even remembering my name, or fight until I died so she could have a chance to live.”

Jake remained quiet for another moment. “Sherry said something about Chris being there— in Raccoon City. You say he’s so fucking great. Shouldn’t he have remembered young you'd rot away in a cell?”

Leon winced. “The powers that be— weren’t any good on either side. It wasn’t his fault.”

“Sure,” Jake drawled. “And next you’ll tell me that the BSAA is a beacon of hope and Sherry’s mom is hotter than her.”

Leon choked on a laugh before he could think better of it, shaking his head as Jake gave him a stunned little look. “First off, Sherry isn’t my biological daughter, so do me a favor and never call me ‘mister Birkin’ ever again. I knew Mr. Birkin— the guy was a piece of work. I put hundreds of rounds into him yet he still kept coming back.” Fuck Birkin. “Second? Don’t call my daughter hot when you can’t keep your eyes off that ‘mutt’ you keep insulting.”

Jake scowled, instantly on the defensive. “I ain’t doing shit—”

“Third,” Leon interrupted calmly. “The BSAA is flawed. I will be the first person to tell you that and I will never change my mind. They’re fucked up and they have communication issues and they treat dying for the cause like it’s a ticket to Valhalla. Jake, I would spit in the face of the BSAA’s beurocracy if I could.” Not in front of Chris, though. “But that’s not what matters. My own issues aside, the BSAA was there, Jake. In China, on the frontlines, fighting to get survivors out of there despite how bleak the situation really was. And that’s a lot more than you can say for the average military of any country.”

Jake stared at him. “You do a lot of talking for someone who doesn’t actually say anything.”

Leon couldn’t argue there.

“I’m not here because I wanted to see Piers, you know.”

Leon smirked. “I think that’s the first time I’ve heard you call him by name.”

The scowl was back and Jake suddenly refused to look at Leon. “Look— I’ve got a one way ticket to undisclosed because that’s what I need right now. I need to be as far away from this bullshit as possible, no more needles, no more zombies, and no more jarheads breathing down my neck. But I couldn’t—”

Jake cut himself off, his hand covering his mouth like he needed to stop himself from confessing something terribly secretive. Leon watched him, waiting patiently. He saw a lot of himself in Jake, in a strange way. Not the anger— unless he was counting the years after Krauser, before parting ways with Chris again in Spain— but the instincts. Not showing his back to anyone he couldn’t trust for more than a few seconds, always keeping his eyes on a swivel, peripherals clearing rooms, the coiled muscles that were ready to flinch from a blow, hopes up high and his head down low. 

The tired acceptance when faced with betrayal— and the surprise that came when that betrayal didn’t happen.

Leon didn’t know how Jake had grown up, so he couldn’t say if it was better or worse than what Leon had known, but it still couldn’t have been good. Falling into mercenary work at the age of twenty— more than likely even younger— wasn’t a good sign for a happy childhood. And when abandoned by his father—

Leon saw a lot of himself in Jake and that made him all the more patient. He knew what it was like to check every word out of his mouth, terrified of giving anything away to someone who wasn’t safe to know any of it. So when Jake took a few extra seconds just to think and make sure he didn’t spill his guts without a safety net, Leon waited.

“… I couldn’t just _leave_ ,” Jake finally got out. “In the beginning, I thought it was just Sherry who was out there trying to wrangle me in. I knew I was important insofar that my blood was a vaccine, wahoo,” and the exaggerated roll of his eyes at his words had Leon grinning again. “But I didn’t really get what exactly was being given up just to get me in until— until we were down there. In the city streets. And then in the facility, underwater. And Redfield and the mutt came down and then you were there too, and it made me realize— that I had taken a lot from people I’ve never met before. In being the key to a cure, I’d cost people their lives. And after understanding that, I realized I couldn’t just _leave._ Not without—”

He cut off again, and Leon saw enough of himself in Jake to know he wouldn’t be able to finish this sentence, so Leon did it for him. “Not without making sure Piers wasn’t one of the lives you took,” he supplied softly. “And here I was thinking you didn’t come back to see him.”

“Shut up,” Jake huffed. “It doesn’t make sense, not even to myself, but I’m pretty sure half the shit I saw tonight wouldn’t add up with the scientific formula, so why should this?”

Leon hummed his agreement, watching Piers shift in his hospital bed. His gaze was then drawn to Chris. The older man had to be uncomfortable, bent forward with his arms crossed, covered in bruises and a few bandages for the deeper injuries, breathing softly in sleep. He was gorgeous despite the battered state he was in, and Leon felt the aches in his own body soothe away as he was flooded with warmth at the reminder that Chris wasn’t dead— Leon wasn’t alone anymore.

Chris was gorgeous, too— Leon wasn’t sure how much had changed between the Edonia operation gone-wrong and now, but Leon hadn’t seen Chris in the flesh since Spain. Nine long years, far too long at this point, and photos had never done Chris justice. The harsh flash of the camera had always made him seem cold and callous and impersonal when the reality couldn’t be further from that fabricated truth. Chris exuded solid, unwavering trust, both for others and inspiring it in himself. The softness in his expressions were impossible to capture unless witnessed for himself and etched into memory. The calm tenor of his voice was like music. The kindness in his eyes was like home. No picture could ever capture the gentle furrow of Chris’s brow as he slept or the knot of his fingers in his lap or the steady rise and fall of his shoulders as he breathed. No photograph could ever do him justice.

“Huh,” Jake intoned suddenly. “So it’s like that.”

Leon knew what he was talking about and wasn’t going to argue. “Looks like it.”

“Always wondered what had to be fucked six ways to Sunday to make you get between me and him— I guess this is a good enough explanation.”

“The older you get, the more you realize how pointless it all is except for the people you hold close.”

“Am I supposed to take that as words of wisdom?”

“I don’t care what you do with what I say,” Leon replied. “I just don’t want you to kill yourself in the name of money.” He glanced to Jake, finding it hard to look away from Chris same as it had been hard for Jake to look away from Piers. “You live your life how you need to— but don’t think for a second that you don’t deserve better.”

Jake gave him a deadpan stare. “What are you, my therapist?”

“You’d be fucked if I was.” Leon reached down without hesitation and snagged Jake’s burner phone from his back pocket. He knew it was a burner phone because Jake didn’t really protest Leon taking it from him in the first place. Leon flipped it open and inwardly marveled at being able to do that again. He hadn’t had a flip phone since 2006. Leon quickly punched in his number— the personal one, not the bullshit number that would get them to a representative who would field the caller and get the message to Leon in a week if lucky— and tucked the phone back into Jake’s back pocket.

Jake raised a brow. “The hell was that?”

“My contact,” Leon replied. “I live in Virginia, inside the DC area. Nice place. 3409 Wilson Boulevard in Arlington. Sixth floor. There’s this balcony with all these windows looking out of the street. Definitely super easy to break into. Even the bedroom window can fit an entire person— probably more than one. And I’ve got great insurance on the place if someone decides to smash some glass for easy entry, though I do have neighbors that might overhear and alert the police, so whoever is doing the trespassing should try to be smart about it.”

Jake looked absolutely bewildered. “Are you— inviting me to break into your place?”

Leon shrugged. “If you’re in the neighborhood? Yeah. Or just ring the doorbell, but I get if you’re paranoid. I am government and you’re a fugitive, after all. Just try to get me a text at least fifteen minutes before so I can make sure I’ve got something on the stove for you.”

“Are you— bribing me with food?”

“When was the last time you ate a home cooked meal someone else made?”

Something strange flitted past Jake’s eyes, something vulnerable. “Years.”

“Then don’t put it off any longer.” Leon jerked his chin into the hospital room. “You’ll probably stand a good chance of catching your mutt there too depending on how things go with Chris and I. So at least think about it. For now, why don’t you get in there and check—”

Jake was suddenly marching past Leon and down the dark, quiet hall Leon had come through, muttering a short, “Don’t come after me,” in Leon’s ear before he was out of sight. Leon wasn’t surprised, and only a little disappointed. He had figured giving his phone number and offering a place to stay would have made Jake cagey, but it was better than just shoving a key to his apartment in the young man’s hand. At least he’d stuck around for the entire pitch, whether or not that had been on purpose. Leon sighed and hoped Jake would listen to him. At least he was sure Jake had memorized the string of numbers to reach Leon within the measure of a blink, so he’d always have it even after dropping the burner. Small favors from a hard life, Leon guessed.

Now alone, Leon couldn’t put off the inevitable. He supposed he’d been avoiding it the same as Jake. Going into that room, hearing the steady beep, having to face the reality of the war they fought through. What was the point of it all if it only left them so scarred that they couldn’t stomach facing the next? Martyrdom was sickening, but at least the fallen would never have to fight again.

Piers had lost his arm— recovery would be slow and grueling and Leon didn’t know if Piers had that kind of patience. He hoped Chris would be able to keep the young soldier in line until he was full recuperated, but was Chris even of sound mind to be capable of that level of authority? And would it be the abuse of authority Jake had been threatening existed? Would this even work? Leon could get Piers the most advanced arm in existence, but if Piers couldn’t accept the change, then he’d never make it out. And what on earth would Piers even want to be if he couldn’t be a soldier?

Leon supposed that it wasn’t his place to find out. He just hoped the BSAA would give Piers more support than they’d given Chris. Then again, if Leon pulled the right strings, he’d be able to ensure it. He already intended to make a call to David Trapp again and lay a few threats of his own over Chris’s wellbeing. What was a few more for Piers?

Leon heaved a sigh and told himself to stop being a coward. He finally pushed open the door to Piers’s room, the soft creak of the door barely causing Chris to stir. The room itself was cool, kept at a lower temperature to help Piers recover from his surgery and make it easier to recognize a fever. The machine connected to Piers’s heart beeped steadily, a soothing rhythm that Leon was sure would be stuck in his head for days. He went to stand by the bed and stared down at Piers, taking in the bandages that were wrapped around the stump and the stitching in his face. 

In a way, this was Leon’s fault. There had had been the smallest chance that Piers wouldn’t have gotten into the BSAA without Leon’s meddling. Leon’s attempt to ensure Piers would be working with the best of the best was what had led to Piers ending up like this. The guilt would crush Leon once he got some rest and was energetic enough to beat himself up. At least for now, he could feel good about knowing he’d been the one to help get Piers out of there.

God— Leon had been through a lot of shit, but nothing had ever felt like that. The moment when he’d looked away from Chris being in the grip of HAOS to see Piers jamming a needle into his arm and screaming, succumbing to the infection within seconds. Leon remembered the pain of something foreign in the body fighting kill, the agony of Las Plagas squirming against his spine, but he’d never had a mutation burst from his body like water from a broken dam. And when Piers had shoved Chris into the pod with every intention to stay behind and die—

Leon was proud of the instincts that he’d developed from childhood, and he always would be. Especially now that his instincts had been the thing to save Piers. To grab him and throw him into the pod, to immediately witness the scene of Piers’s sacrifice and act without conscious thought. If Leon had hesitated for even a second, he knew they would have lost Piers. Those harrowed instincts, courtesy of a lifetime of abuse and fear, had saved a man today. And as a lone operative, Leon didn’t get to save anyone all that often.

Then again— could he really say he’d saved Piers when the man was laying unconscious in a bed with a missing arm and possibly blind in one eye? Had he just saved Piers from death only to condemn him to a life without purpose if the BSAA considered him too much of a risk to deploy again? What was the point of surviving if there was nothing to live for?

“Leon?”

Leon startled, blue eyes darting to where Chris was waking slowly, the man lifting his head with a pinched brow, blinking blearily at him in the fluorescent light of the hospital room. Leon watched him with quiet surprise, stunned by the sound of his name in that voice. He didn’t think he was going to get used to Chris being alive for a very, very long time.

“Leon,” Chris said again, sounding more alert with every letter. “Good— I need to talk to you.”

“If you break up with me, I’m swan-diving.” Leon didn’t know where that had come from and hated how Chris flinched. Had it been a bad joke or was Leon really that far gone? Had Leon saved himself from China only to condemn himself to the same empty life as he feared for Piers? What was waiting for him except—

Wait—

Sherry.

Leon had Sherry back. With Simmons gone and Sherry an adult of her own, Leon wasn’t alone even if Chris left him. It would be hard— torture, really— but he had his daughter. He hadn’t had his daughter in years, almost as long as he’d lost Chris. If he had Sherry, he still had something to fight for, so Leon cleared his throat and backtracked. “Sorry,” he said weakly. “Long night. You can break up with me if you need. I’ll probably sign up for therapy like Hannigan’s been begging me to.”

Chris was bewildered. “Are we together?”

Probably not, now that Leon thought about it. “What did you need to talk to me about?”

“About us,” Chris replied. “But not nearly as bad as you seem to think. Jesus.”

Leon figured it was time to take the bite. “Go for it.”

“I was talking with Piers before we ran into you,” Chris said, still appearing somewhat disturbed by what Leon had said. “I realized that I’m not all here yet, which means— I can’t be all here for you.” He paused and Leon felt his stomach drop before— “But I want to be. I really, really want to be. If you’re willing to wait, I’ll get to where I need to be so I can be there for you. Okay?”

Leon gusted a long, slow breath. “Alright,” he said. “Sure. I’ll wait.”

“Really? Not even gonna ask for an estimate?”

“It’s been nine years since I last held you in my arms,” Leon replied quietly. “I can wait a lifetime longer if I know it’s gonna happen eventually.”

Chris— the unfairly attractive fucker— blushed. “So, uh— I’m assuming we are intimate?”

Leon barely kept himself from letting out a snort at that. “I guess that’s a word for it.”

Chris bit his lip and Leon fought with himself to not just take Chris by the chin and kiss him hard. He wondered if Chris’s lips were as simultaneously chapped yet soft as they’d been last time. Now that Chris was alive and they were on the same track, careening towards a future where they would be able to call themselves _something_ , Leon was finding it hard to deny himself physical impulses he’d always saved for lonely nights with his right hand and a handle of whiskey. “Can I show you something without you laughing at me?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever laughed at you unless you’ve told one of your awful jokes.”

Chris nodded and lifted his hip to get a hand in his back pocket— his shirt was different, but he was wearing his BSAA issued BDU pants. Chris pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket and held it out to Leon. Leon frowned as he took it, seeing words scribbling on the white. He unfolded the paper so he could read.

_You’re a fool, Chris Redfield — A.W._

Leon’s brow furrowed. “Ada wrote you a letter?”

“Ada?”

“A.W.,” Leon replied. “Ada Wong.”

Chris blinked slowly. “… Do I know Ada Wong?”

“Kinda,” Leon admitted. “I’m assuming you got a debrief on Carla?” When Chris nodded, Leon was relived to know he wasn’t heading into an argument. “The Ada that was helping me this whole night was the real one— we met her together back in Raccoon City, and then again in an op in Spain. So yeah, you know her. Not as well as I do, but well enough to be familiar.”

Chris nodded like he was digesting this. “So the entire time that I was trying to kill her…”

“It wasn’t the real her,” Leon told him gently. “You didn’t betray her. But honestly? You’ve never been her biggest fan since the beginning, so it’s not like you were very far off track.”

Chris grimaced. “Cause she’s a mercenary?”

“I mean, yeah,” Leon relented. “But she also kinda pulled a hell of a stunt while we were infiltrating an Umbrella Corporation underground lab in Raccoon City. She, uh,” and he paused, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. “She kissed me and didn’t let me pull away. And she has a bad habit of point a gun at my head even when we’re supposed to be working together. So, yeah— safe to say you never really liked her all that much to begin with.”

Chris’s gaze darkened and it was like Leon was back in Raccoon City, pulling on Chris’s arm, saying that it didn’t matter that Ada had forced her mouth on his because he knew what was expected of him. Despite the anger coming off Chris in waves, Leon smiled. “It’s nice to know you still care even when you’re not all you.”

“What she did was out of line—”

“Chris, trust me, I’ve heard that spiel before, and while it was really, really awesome to hear the first time, I can assure you there’s no reason to go after her head for what was done over a decade ago.”

Chris sunk into his chair, only slightly mollified. “I’m not so sure about that,” he said cautiously. “Cause if you turn that letter over, you’re gonna see something that’s just another huge breach of privacy.”

Leon frowned and did as instructed, flipping the paper and going very still at the image he saw printed in glossy, yet faded ink. There were water stains and breaks in the image from the inner fold and part of the image was warped from some sort of heat exposure, but it was still, very clearly, an image of Leon riding Chris’s god damn fucking cock in their hotel bed in Spain. Leon stared at the image, unblinking, processing slowly. “… That motherfucker.”

“It’s us,” Chris said. Then, “Isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Leon affirmed, his tongue feeling too big for his mouth. “It’s— shit. It’s us.” He stared at the photo for another long second, transported back through time, remembering the gasps and whispered words and the love they’d etched into one another’s skin. “We’re in Casa De Los Leones in El Puerto de Santa María, just a way’s away from the Rota Naval base. It was after the op in Spain— you can read about it if you want, help jog your memory, but it’s not written perfectly cause I had to leave you out of it.” He grimaced as he felt the frayed edges of the photo, shaking his head. “Ada took this. She got us the hotel room and took this. It was her plan all along.”

They were both quiet. Then, in a tiny voice, Chris asked, “Why?”

“Hell if I know,” Leon admitted. “Maybe she knew we were doomed from the start? Or maybe she wanted to give us something to remember it all by. I really don’t know, Chris.” He carefully handed the photo back, knowing it had to be precious for it to be on Chris after all this time. “How long have you had that?”

“Not sure,” Chris confessed. “But I had it when I woke up in Edonia. It’s how I learned my name.”

Leon was baffled by the statement. Chris wet his lips and tucked the photo away again. “You love me.”

It was a statement— thank god, it was a statement. “I do,” he affirmed needlessly. “I always will.”

Chris sunk his teeth into his now-shiny bottom lip and looked to Piers. “BSAA wants his PT and my rehabilitation to be intertwined— I help him recover physically and he helps me recover mentally. We’re gonna be given a place together so we can look out for each other. Jill— Valentine?” He pursed his lips, then nodded. “Jill Valentine. My old partner. She thinks I can make the most progress with Piers because he’s the one who has been an integral part of my life so recently. So while Piers is doing PT, I’m going to be attending therapy with a psychiatrist to try and— try and get it all back.”

Chris stared up at Leon, his eyes like pools of warmth that Leon wanted to drown in. “They don’t think I’ll be of sound mind for a while,” he hedged. “Think you’d be willing to postpone that date?”

Leon choked on a laugh that was close to hysterical. “Fuck— _fuck._ ” He rested his head in his hand and shook it, feeling out of his mind. “Yes, Chris, yes. I will wait until the world stops turning if I have to, okay? You don’t have to ask.”

“I wanted to ask regardless,” Chris replied. “I realize how unfair this is to you, but I know it’s the responsible thing to do.”

“Chris, I’ll wait for as long as you need me to for you to feel like yourself again.” He gave Chris a tired, sad smile. “I’m in love with you as you are now and as you were then and I’ll always love you. All you need to worry about is being able to know and love yourself again, because I’m not going anywhere. Not ever again.”

Chris took in a deep, steadying breath, and nodded. “I will come for you, Leon.”

“You better,” Leon said with an idle threat. Then he pushed off the wall and gave Piers one last glance. “I’ve got a date with pissed off congressmen and woman and probably a mountain of paperwork to sort through, so I’ve got to get going and get myself stateside. If it’s alright with you, I’ll be speaking with David Trapp to ensure your physical and mental wellbeing as well as Piers’s. That okay?”

“Sure,” Chris said. “No idea who that is. But you’re leaving already?”

Leon shuddered a breath. “I killed the president, Chris,” he almost whispered. “I’ve got to face the music— sooner rather than later.”

Chris’s expression twisted. “I— I hope they understand.”

Who knew if anyone ever could. Leon just gave him a tired two-fingered salute and reached for the doorknob. “Good luck with the rehab, Chris. David— BSAA’s director— has my number so you can reach me any time. Don’t be a stranger.” He didn’t have high hopes. He was sure Chris would be advised to distance himself from any sort of individual that could be related to extreme trauma for the sake of his wellbeing— and god knew Leon was just trauma personified for everyone that had ever been unfortunate enough to know him. “Give Jill and the rest my best.” He wondered if Chris would remember Claire soon as he pulled open the door. “Don’t go heading into combat with your brain scrambled again or I’ll—”

Leon was suddenly spun around on his feet, a hand gripping his wrist tight, warm lips pressed to the corner of his mouth that stole his breath like a boot to the stomach. He stood there, wild eyed and stunned, as Chris backed away, releasing Leon’s wrist as quickly as he’d snatched it up, so close that Leon could count his lashes. Chris worried his lower lip again, eyes on where he’d kissed Leon’s skin. 

“… Good luck, Leon S. Kennedy,” he said after what felt like eons. “Thank you for everything.”

Leon could only nod as Chris retreated to his chair and settled down for the rest of the long night. Leon turned and left the hospital in something like a daze. As he entered the cold night, his frazzled thoughts jolted together and failed to work past a single, solitary sensation:

The touch of Chris’s lips to his skin. 

Something that hadn’t happened in so long. Something that Leon had truly believed he’d never feel again. Leon’s hand moved to touch that spot Chris had kissed, his fingertips shaking, his world turning itself over and over in a way that was simultaneously terrifying and exhilarating. He felt young and stupid and in love all over again and it couldn’t be any worse than the first time around. As Leon touched the spot where his skin was warm and where the ghost of Chris’s lips lingered, he smiled.

“Dad?”

Leon broke himself from his stupor to see Sherry standing almost directly in front of him, an innocuous black sedan just behind her. Leon only then remembered that he and Sherry were supposed to head to the airport together once Leon had squared everything away with Chris. The smile that was tugging at his lips bloomed even wider as he reached out and slung an arm over Sherry’s shoulders. “Ready to go home?”

“Depends,” she said, watching him with her brow knit with concern, blue eyes reading him like an open book. “Are you okay?”

Leon really didn’t know if he was, but he said, “I think I am, for once,” and it didn’t feel like a lie. Sherry gave a tentative smile of her own and sunk into Leon’s side, the two of them walking in step to the car, ready to pass out after their long nights and recover as the family they had always wanted to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> seeya in vendetta uwu


End file.
